The atmosphere in the room changed. Erica suddenly felt like an outsider, an intruder, about to overhear something that was not meant for her ears. She looked from Alastair to Brigette to Finn. Then it dawned on her. There was a kinship in the way they acted and looked. Alastair was an elderly gentleman, but he must have once been extremely tall before age and sorrow bent him. She could see it all now. A tall, handsome laird in his prime, an alluring witch woman in the woods, lonely and looking for love, ready to weave the spell her gorgeous silver hair and clear eyes cast on every man she met. But she would have only had eyes for the proud laird. How many years must they have hidden their love—and the fruit of their love—from prying eyes…
“Ye are me son, Finn…Buchanan. Me only son.”
Erica gasped.
Finn approached the bed and knelt close enough for his father to run his hands through his son’s hair and feel the strength hidden inside that great muscled body.
“Finn, yer hair is just like yer mither’s, but yer strength comes from both of us.” He turned to Brigette. “Why did ye run away, me darlin’ lady? I thought ye were dead and that I had nay more reason for living. And now I found both o’ ye, alive an’ well. It’s a miracle.”
Brigette shook her head and kissed the laird’s hand. “Our son was nae strong enough to fight off the rumors of his heritage, Alastair. If yer brithers had got wind of me son’s noble blood, they would have stopped at naught until he lay dead at their feet. I used the fire at me cottage as a sign. We had to hide until Finn was old enough to fight for his birthright.”
“I had nay reason to thrive with the two o’ ye gone,” Laird Alastair muttered. “I allowed Robert and Jamie to run things as they saw fit. What was the use anyway? With nay son to carry on me line.”
“How long have ye lain abed, Faither?” Finn grasped Alastair’s hand. “Why did ye no’ have hope? Even if Mither and I were dead, that is nay reason to give up.”
This made Alastair chuckle, then he coughed a bit before replying. “Och lad, ye take after me in so many ways. I dinnae ken if ye have fallen in love yet…” The old man looked from Finn to Erica standing by the door with a canny expression on his face. “…but when ye lose yer heart’s desire, the fire goes out inside ye. The world grew dark around me. I could no’ find the willpower to do much. After many years of living in such a miserable limbo, I fell ill in truth. I moved from sitting in a chair to sitting in bed, and finally succumbed to a foul malaise from what yer mither tells me was a deficiency of fresh air and foods. What a sorry fellow I am.”
This made Brigette lean over and hug him. “Death and departure affect us all in different ways, Alastair. Let’s speak of it nay more.”
* * *
Erica was tornbetween wanting to stay and wanting to leave the new family to celebrate their reunion as they saw fit. When she excused herself, Erica had left Alastair and his son discussing how best to handle this revelation. She did not envy them their decision. On the one hand, Robert and Jamie were Alastair’s brother and nephew, respectively, and on the other hand, Finn was his son.
Using the back stairs to get to her bedchamber, Erica sat down to write a long-overdue letter to her mother. The writing desk was set against the window embrasure, which gave her a perfect view out into the courtyard. When she saw Brigette and Finn walk out together, holding a frail but determined Laird Alastair between them, she stopped writing for a beat and watched the small family chatting together as they circled the yard. It was as if Laird Alastair was seeing the world for the first time. It was a lovely sight to see his face light up as a particularly fine horse trotted past him on its way to the stables or how he stooped to chat with Erica’s favorite page boy.
It was only Erica who noticed Robert and Jamie watching the healer and her warrior son walking around with the laird. The pair were standing on the lower battlements, keeking over the crenellations with sour looks on their faces. She was about to smile and enjoy their discomfort but stopped when she saw Robert lean over the merlon wall and shout out, “Brigette! Brigette MacComhaill!”
Erica was too late to warn Finn’s mother. She had already turned around to acknowledge her name.
Now Robert and Jamie knew the laird’s lover had not died in the cottage fire.
