“Oh, I dinna think so. My business or no, I’m no going to let a full-grown man bully a wee bit of child.”
Roland’s whole body shook with his fury as he attempted to push past the man only to find himself flipped around, his face ground into the stone wall with his arm wrenched up behind him.
“You have no idea who yer dealing with. I’ll have yer name,” he sputtered. “And on the morrow, I’ll have yer head mounted in the courtyard.”
The interloper had the nerve to laugh—laugh!—as he let go of Roland’s arm, allowing him at last to turn around.
“Patrick MacDowylt, at yer service, Lardiner. Yes, I ken who you are, and I’ll tell you honestly, it’s nomyhead I’d be concerned about if I were you.”
A second MacDowylt? Roland watched as the man strolled away, realizing only after he was out of sight that the child had managed to sneak away as well.
Roland smoothed his shirt and plaid back into place as he returned to the laird’s solar. His solar now.
It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. They’d all be dead within days. The MacDowylts and that rotten child, too. Dead. He’d see to it if he had to slice them apart himself.
No one would take from him what he’d worked for years to achieve.
Hewas the MacGahan now.
Chapter 22
Isa stretched her back before squatting down to fill her bucket with water from the stream. The muscles in her legs trembled, deliciously tired, as if she’d played on the slope of a steep hill all night long.
No hills, perhaps, but she certainly had played.
She grinned like a crazy woman, not caring one bit what anyone might think of her this morning.
And what a beautiful morning! Everything around her seemed brilliantly sharp and new. The sweet-smelling spring air caressed her face with its warmth and she felt the promise of new birth carried in that gentle breeze.
Time to begin her planting today. Robbie should wake soon, and they could have their morning meal while the water heated for her bath. She needed to put on a new porridge to simmer for tonight.
Jamie should arrive this day. She’d expected him yesterday, but he must have been delayed with his chores.
So much to do, so many things to organize now that Jamie would be staying with her. With them. Just like a family.
Such a lovely day. Even the waters felt warmer than they had only days ago. Holding her hands down beside her bucket, she allowed the stream to ripple through her fingers. The waters caressed her skin as if they were alive.
Or perhaps she simply felt more alive.
Chuckling at her own silliness, she reached for her bucket and froze.
What in the name of all that’s holy?
She dropped to sit on the grassy bank, staring at her hand. A mark covered her palm. A mark that hadn’t been there yesterday. A mark identical to the one on Robbie’s arm.
Plunging her hand back into the water, she scrubbed at her palm, but as if the mark were a part of her, nothing happened.
What could it mean?
“Robbie?” she called. “Robbie!” Louder, as she rose to her feet, running toward the cottage.
He met her halfway down the path, one hand clutched to his chest as he ran toward her.
“What?” His face was pinched with worry and he grabbed her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
In answer to his question, she held out her hand, palm up.
He stared at her hand, much as she must have, before meeting her eyes. “Where did that come from?”
