Inside the door of the keep a young boy took the saddlebags from Robert, racing away up the stairs, presumably to Leah’s new room.
His mother waited at the bottom of those stairs.
“You’ll have time to meet with his lairdship after the midday meal. For now I’d ask you to join me in my solar.”
He glanced at his father, who shrugged indulgently. “Best no to keep yer lady mother waiting. Any longer than you already have, that is. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”
Robert nodded and followed his mother up the winding stone stairs to the second level of the keep.
Just as he remembered, her solar smelled of flowers. Though he’d never stopped to consider it before, he realized she must keep dried bits and pieces tucked away in here. There certainly were no fresh bouquets available at the corner grocery in this time.
“Where’s Leah?”
His mother motioned for him to have a seat next to her in one of the large chairs drawn up in front of the fireplace before she answered. “With Maisey. She’ll bring the lass to join us here once she’s settled in.”
“My Maisey?” Now there was a name that brought back memories. The woman had been nursemaid to both him and Richard for the first eight years of his life. “She must be ancient by now.”
Margery smiled, pouring a cup of spiced wine and handing it to him. “Aye. At least as ancient as I am.”
He felt his neck redden as he realized his words had slipped out before he’d had a chance to consider them properly. “No, my lady, I dinna mean to say... that is...”
His mother lifted her hand to halt his ineffective apology, her smile even broader than before. “It’s no matter, lad. I’ve many a day where I do feel ancient. But enough of that. Today is no one of them.”
She took a sip from her cup and fixed him with a look he remembered well from his childhood. A look that put him on notice of what was to come. His mother, perhaps the most gentle, most loving female to ever step foot in the world, had always possessed the ability to pin her sons to the spot with that look. As they’d grown older, he and Richard had compared her gaze to that of a falcon as it eyed its prey.
“Perhaps you’d care to tell me where you’ve been this past score of years.”
Stalling for time, he lifted his own cup to his lips and felt some of his apprehension slip away as he contemplated the story he would give her. The twenty years, though not at all in his plans, would actually make it easier to explain Leah’s presence: a marriage, a deceased wife, a daughter in need of a woman’s care. It would actually fit much more logically now.
“And while yer at it, Robbie, you can tell me who the lass really is, no this made-up story of her being yer daughter.”
The wine caught in his throat and he choked, coughing as he gasped it into his windpipe.
His mother jumped from her chair, pounding him on the back while she lifted one of his arms above his head, just as if he were still a small child.
When he’d recovered, she returned to her seat, once again fixing him with “the look.”“Well? I’m waiting. The truth, Robert.”
He huffed out his breath, shaking his head. It was no use. He’d never once in the entirety of his life been able to sneak even the smallest deceit past this woman. How he’d ever allowed himself to consider the possibility he could carry this off was beyond him.
“You’ll no believe me if I give you the truth,” he muttered. “And I’d rather no have you think yer son has gone daft.”
“That’s my decision to make, is it no?”
Clearly she would settle for nothing less than the full truth, but where would he even begin?
“If I were to tell you a tale of magic and Faeries, what would you make of that, my lady?”
His mother looked down at her cup, her fingers clenching tightly around the vessel. “She’s one of theirs, is she no? One of the Fae. She certainly has their delicate beauty about her.”
It took a moment for him to realize his mouth had fallen open. His mother believed in Faeries? “How in the name of the saints...”
He stopped himself from speaking, watching his mother’s grip gradually loosen on the cup she held while her expression calmed, as if she worked through some problem, at last reaching her decision.
“You ken the existence of the Fae, do you?” he asked when he thought her ready.
With a sigh, she slowly nodded, bringing her gaze back up to meet his. “Aye, son. I encountered one of them as a wee lass. I’d been allowed to accompany my father and brothers into Inverness for market day. The streets were crowded and we’d stopped at so many booths that morning, I’d grown tired, and gradually I fell behind the others.” Her eyes glazed over with the memory of her experience.
“Go on,” he prodded, not wanting her to stop now.
