Page 90 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

“Alright,” he said finally. “Tell him I’m on me way.”

He dressed quickly, more rushed than usual. Something about the servant’s tone set his teeth on edge. He stepped into the corridor and found it already buzzing. Voices carried in low tones. Servants moving briskly. A handful of soldiers out of place. By the time he reached the main hall, he understood why.

Laird Ewan Kerr was there, with men behind him.

Tav froze. The older man turned, saw him, and smiled broadly.

“Tav,” the laird said, striding forward. “Ye look well, lad.”

Tav barely managed a bow. “Me laird. I didnae expect⁠—”

“Aye, I imagine nay one did.” Kerr clapped him on the shoulder. Warm. Too warm. “But I’m glad tae see ye.”

“Come with us,” he said, after Laird Caithness appeared at his side. “We need tae speak.”

Tav nodded mutely and followed. They led him to a private chamber. The fire was lit. A bottle of whisky had already been opened. Caithness poured three glasses and handed one to each man.

Caithness gave Kerr a look, then nodded. The latter took a deep breath. “Ye asked why there was an attack. I have the answer.”

Tav went still.

Kerr continued. “Ye already ken it was Armstrong. His men were behind it. Ye ken why they’re after ye?”

“Nay,” Tav said slowly, shaking his head.

Ewan looked him dead in the eye. His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. “Because he believes ye’re his son.”

The silence hit like a blade, clean and cold. The room contracted. Tav blinked, but the air didn’t shift.

Son. Nay. Nay, that couldn’t— That makes nay sense.

“What?” he finally managed, the word scraped raw from his throat.

He looked between the two lairds, searching for some sign that this was a joke gone foul. But there was only the fire crackling low in the hearth, and two men watching him with the solemnity of a funeral.

Son. Armstrong’s son?

The thought alone turned his stomach. He tried to laugh, but it came out wrong.

“This is a mistake,” he said again. “It’s—ye’ve got it wrong. That’s mad. That’s⁠—”

But the room didn’t correct him. And something beneath his ribs shifted like earth under pressure. Everything in him reeled. Could it be? He had always wondered about the age difference between him and Bane. Could his mother have been with child, and then met the man he had always thought was his father and married him? He had never doubted his father’s role as such, he had felt just as loved as Bane. His father had never treated him differently.

“This is wrong,” he repeated. “This isnae possible.”

He looked again at Kerr. The older man didn’t speak or move. He was simply watching Tav, quiet and still, his hands folded in front of him. There was no urgency in his expression. No judgment, either. Just a calm, steady sort of waiting.

That quiet certainty made Tav feel smaller. Like the ground had shifted without his permission. Like he wasn’t the one steering anymore. He drew a shaky breath.

"Even if it's a mistake," Tav said slowly, his hands trembling faintly, "why now? "

Ewan and Caithness exchanged a glance.

It was Caithness who spoke next. "Because Armstrong is expecting a child."

Tav frowned. "What?"

"A bairn," Kerr clarified. "Word is, he's certain it's a boy."