She kissed his cold, freckled cheeks, tickled his belly, and spun him around until the bairn was wiggling and screaming with laughter.
She could kiss those soft cheeks forever. The outpouring of affection from her toward the little ones had been unexpected—it awaited Pip, too, when he was ready for it. She’d not spent much time around small children before and had been surprised at how easy they were to hug and kiss. Warm and snuggly, with their soft skin and silky hair, holding them was like holding a puppy or a kitten: irresistible.
She felt a sharp stab between her ribs as the memory of her mother round with child took her. Was this how it would have been to have a brother or sister? Was this what she had missed? Would they have played hide-and-seek? Would they have had stick battles and kicked balls around, and played with the puppy in the barn, like she did with Eddie (and Maddy when she wasn’t sick)?
It was rare that Cate allowed herself the pain of remembering, but for one moment she thought of her mother and the sibling that had been taken from her. The sense of loss was not as sharp as it had been, but it was still there. It would always be there, she realized, but Pip, Eddie, and Maddy had made it somehow easier to bear. They had to stay. They belonged here with her—and Gregor, when he came around.
Mindful of Eddie’s unpredictable bladder, she decided she’d better stop before she went home with damp clothes. The wee laddie was getting better at making it to the garderobe, though, and she knew it was because he was beginning to feel safe and secure.
Gregor wouldn’t send them away. But the odd conversation she’d had with John still bothered her. Clearly he’d been trying to warn her away from Gregor, and she’d gotten the feeling it had been for a reason. Was it the children, or something else?
With one last kiss on Eddie’s cheek and a tight hug around his narrow ribs, she set him down. “Should we find a tree?”
He nodded and grabbed the area between his legs so anxiously, she realized she’d probably stopped just in time.
After a minute, the little boy said proudly, “I made the snow lellow!”
For some reason, he thought this was hilarious and proceeded to break out into giggles all over again. “Lellow snow, lellow snow…Maddy can’t make a line like that. Girls have to squat, did you know that? Standing is much better.”
Goodness gracious, the conversation topics of a three-year-old boy! Privately, she agreed with his conclusion—boys definitely had it easier in that regard. “It is quite a talent,” she said wryly, glancing over at the artistic accomplishment, which was actually more of a jagged spray than a line. Neatness would have to come later, she supposed. “But perhaps you had best keep it to yourself. We wouldn’t want Maddy to feel badly.”
He sobered, considering her words with a gravity that made her want to squeeze him all over again. He nodded his gingery head. “Aye, you are probably right. What about my fa—” He stopped, amending, “The laird?”
Her chest pinched at the telling slip. The boy had been told by his mother before she’d abandoned him that Gregor was his father, but even at three he was old enough to understand that Gregor hadn’t claimed him. That was one thing she’d never had to face. Her father had never denied his parentage. But like Eddie, even at a young age, she’d understood that she was a bastard. She’d been given a chance to leave the public ridicule behind when she’d left Lochmaben, but the memories were not so easy to erase.
Her heart went out to the boy, wishing she could shelter him from the inevitable hurt that label would bring. It would have been so much easier if he’d been Gregor’s. No matter what “the laird” said, she knew he would not deny his own flesh and blood. But what about children who weren’t his, yet needed him all the same?
And what about a wife? It was a question she’d never asked herself. Would her bastardy make a difference to him, if he knew? She didn’t want to think so, but for the first time, the fact that she’d lied to him didn’t sit well. She’d been thinking about herself when she’d given him a different name, not a future marriage. She was still the same person, whether her parents had been married or not. What did it matter if her father was technically alive? He’d been dead to her since she was five.
It might matter.
Pushing aside her uncertainty, she smiled at the laddie. Gregor would do the right thing. “I’m sure the laird would love to hear about it. Should we go find him?” It was getting close to the midday meal anyway.
Eddie nodded, and with his tiny hand in hers, they started winding their way through the trees. While Eddie continued to jabber on about his new talent, Cate’s thoughts veered toward the afternoon practice session with Gregor. As much as she was looking forward to the prospect of spending time with him and learning from him, she was also eager to match wits—and skills—with him. She wanted to impress him. She wanted to show him that he’d been right to encourage her. But most of all she wanted him to take her seriously. She knew that he’d always thought her pursuits something of a game, but they weren’t to her. She was proud of her accomplishments, and she wanted him to be proud of them, too.
She wanted him to see her as strong. Not as a young girl who needed protection. She didn’t want to be the little girl in the well anymore. She wanted him to care for her not because hehadto, but because hewantedto.
She must have chased Eddie deeper into the forest than she’d realized. They were still a good furlong from Dunlyon when she felt a prickle at the back her neck. Instinct made her tense and glance behind her. She had the distinct sensation of being watched.
Not seeing anything, she nonetheless held Eddie’s hand a little firmer and quickened her pace.
The feeling grew more pronounced as they went on, and her heart started to pound faster. Every few steps she shot a furtive glance around, but even in the winter, the trees and snow-covered limbs were dense, preventing her from getting a clear view in any direction. She was being ridiculous.
But the sudden flap of birds, disturbed from their roost in the tree limbs, signaled that it wasn’t her imagination. Who would be watching her and trying to scare her? Dougal? She wouldn’t put it past the lad to seek vengeance, but he didn’t seem to have the patience or cunning to lay in ambuscade or the deviousness to devise a plan of fear.
Could it be brigands? They were so isolated in the glen, it was easy to forget the troubles that faced other parts of Scotland: roaming bands of outlaws in the war-torn lowlands, war parties of English soldiers near the English garrison-held castles, and the clans who still opposed Bruce, like the MacDowells in the southwest.
This part of the Highlands had largely been free from conflict since the MacDougalls had lost the Battle of Brander to Bruce four years earlier. Most of the time the war felt very far away from Roro and Dunlyon. If it weren’t for Gregor’s part in it, she could almost forget the danger. But she felt it now, lurking out there, hidden in the trees. It reminded her of her childhood. Lochmaben in the south of Scotland had always been right in the heart of the war. Of the many things Gregor had given her, perhaps peace was the most significant.
“Too fast, Cate. My wegs ’urt.”
She muttered a curse and tried to mask her rising panic. Slowing, but not stopping, she gave Eddie an encouraging smile. “I’m sorry, sweeting—I just didn’t want you to miss it.”
“Miss what?”
“I asked cook to make a special fig tart—but you know how Pip likes them, too.”
The incentive of losing out on the tart was all he needed to give him a fresh boost of energy. Eddie’s little “wegs” started to move so fast he was practically running.
