Duncan stilled as the impact of what she’d said hit him. His stomach turned, the truth tasting as bitter as bile. If he claimed his son, he’d make him the very thing that had haunted him his entire life: a bastard. Not just any bastard, but the bastard of an outlaw. And, if he didn’t, he would allow his son to bear another man’s name and to inherit land and property that did not belong to him.
What kind of hellish choices were those? It was like choosing to die by a gun or a knife—either way, he was dead.
His eyes burned as he stared at the woman he’d held in his arms not an hour ago and made love to. Who he’d thought loved him. If she’d wanted to hurt him, she could not have chosen a more painful way to inflict her pain.
He’s my son. I want him.
Never had he blamed anyone for the brutal card that had been dealt him, but he did now. Cursing God, cursing his father, cursing Jeannie, cursing himself for the injustice. Had he reached too high again? Reached for happiness only to be shoved roughly back down to the ground.
He didn’t bother to finish dressing, just grabbed his boots and weapons and went for the door.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
He heard the fear in her voice but it didn’t penetrate. He sensed her move up behind him but kept his back to her—looking at her hurt too much. “Anywhere but here,” he said tonelessly. And before she could say anything else he left, the door slammed hard behind him.
Chapter 22
Jeannie stared at the door for hours certain that he would return. He needed time to think, then he would realize that there was nothing else she could have done.
But he’d been so angry. He’d looked at her as if she’d hurt him unbearably, as if she’d destroyed him. She wondered if he’d even heard her explanation.
The sick feeling in her stomach rose and rose. As the hours passed, she was forced to accept what she’d known the moment the words blurted from her mouth: Once again her impulsivity had led her to make a huge mistake.
But was it a mistake?
She was so confused, she no longer knew what was right. But she did know that Duncan wasn’t ever going to see it her way, not when it meant perpetuating a lie. And that’s exactly what she’d been doing—good intentions or not. She would have gone right on doing so, too, for the sake of her son, if Duncan hadn’t returned.
For so long she’d fought to protect Dougall, thinking only to save him from living under the shadow of scandal and the difficulties inherent to being labeled a bastard. But in protecting him, it also meant she was denying him a chance to have a father again. Did she have that right? Francis was dead, but Duncan was not.
Hadn’t she once told Duncan that it wasn’t his birth that made him a bastard, it was his actions? Had she truly believed that or were they just words? If she believed in Duncan, didn’t she have to believe in her son?
She hated the thought of the pain it would cause him, but Dougall was strong and with their help he would weather the storm. Jeannie would never forget what Francis had done for her, but couldn’t deny Dougall a chance to know his father.
And she would tell Duncan as much if only he would come back. In another hour it would be dawn, surely he would return by then?
He wouldn’t just leave her…would he?
The sound of a knock startled her. Her heart leaped. She jumped from the chair, raced to the door and tore it open. “Dunc…”
The word died in her mouth. It wasn’t him. It was only the innkeeper’s daughter with a tray of food. The flare of hope that had soared crashed to the ground in a fizzled, gnarled heap. The girl was about seven and ten with dark hair and a pleasant round face consistent with her figure. In addition to serving food and ale in the public room below, she was also apparently the inn’s maidservant.
“Is it too early, my lady?” Jeannie could see the concern on her face. “I can come back? I heard you moving around and thought you might wish for something to break your fast.”
“Thank you,” Jeannie said, opening the door and letting her in. The steaming bowl of beef broth and fresh bread smelled delicious, but she wasn’t hungry. “I thought you were one of my guardsmen.”
The maid shook her head. “They’re still sleeping off my mother’s ale before the fire. Except for the leader—the tall black-haired man.” She gave Jeannie an uneasy look. “He left a short while ago.”
Left? Jeannie swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you know where he went?”
“To the docks, I think. He was heading off in that direction.”
Jeannie nodded and tried to stay calm. He was probably just readying the boat to leave. He wouldn’t leave without her. The girl set the food down on the side table and offered to bring some fresh water for the basin, which Jeannie declined.
“I can help you with your gown,” the girl suggested, seeing that Jeannie was wearing only her linen sark.
Though Jeannie was in no mood for company, she knew she could not get dressed on her own and accepted the girl’s help rather than wait for Duncan. It might be some time before he decided to come for her.
“You had business at the castle, my lady?” the girl asked conversationally, lacing Jeannie’s stays.
