Page 90 of The Blue Viking

“Something’s been nagging at me for days, especially today after the battle,” he explained, turning to stare at her. “All of the MacNabs had red hair. Every single one of them.”

Maire tried to pull her hand out of Rurik’s grasp, but he would not release her. Maire felt a desperate need to run from the great hall, even if Rurik followed after her. “Rurik, not now. Let’s go outside and discuss this. Not here.”

It was as if he didn’t hear her. “And you have red hair, too,” he pointed out, as if speaking his thoughts aloud unconsciously. “So, how is it possible, Maire, that…”

Her heart thumped madly in her chest.

“… that your son has black hair?”

He looked at Jamie, playing a running tag game with his friends, then back at Maire, then at some of the curious faces of people in the hall, including his own Viking comrades, who were noticing his distress. Everyone’s actions seemed to have slowed down. A sudden chill hung in the air, and Rurik’s face filled with understanding, and then horror.

He pulled his hand out of her clasp and put his face in both hands. For several long moments, he stayed thus, and Maire’s heart sank with dread. “Please, Rurik, let us go outside and discuss this in private.”

Finally, he lifted his head, and he gazed at her with contempt. “Tell me,” he demanded in an icy voice.

“Aye, I will tell you,” she agreed on a long sigh. She barely stifled a sob as she admitted the long-withheld news, “Jamie is your son.”

A son? I have a son?

For five long years I have had a son and never knew!

How many people know? Am I the only one in ignorance?

Oh, God! That foul-mouthed, arrogant, precocious, filthy—in essence, adorable—Scots-child is mine. Mine!

How could she? How could she keep this from me?

Rurik was so angry he feared what he might do. But even in the midst of the red haze that nigh blinded him, Rurik realized that his loss of temper could ruin the celebratory feast for all of the Campbell clan, and that he did not want on his conscience.

He grabbed Maire by the wrist and led her forcefully away from the guests, smiling right and left as he passed through the crowd toward the stairway leading to the upper bedchamber. Only he knew how brittle was his tight-lipped smile, and only Maire knew how painfully his fingers dug into the flesh of her wrist.

Once out of view of her clan and his Viking friends, Rurik practically dragged her up the stairway, down the corridor, and through the oaken door to her bedchamber, which he slammed after them. He shoved her away, fearing he might do her bodily harm, and only then did Rurik relax his tense muscles and press his forehead against the door.

Tears filled his eyes—tears, for the love of Freyja!—but he could not say if they were signs of hurt over Maire’s betrayal, or signs of happiness over his instant paternity. So many emotions overwhelmed him, one after another, that he could scarce keep track.

“Rurik, I’m sorry… I can explain,” she offered, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged her off and turned so abruptly, she almost fell backward. “Explain? Explain?” he shouted. “How can you explain not telling a man he is a father?”

“You weren’t here,” she pointed out with infuriating logic. “As you must recall, you left Scotland afore I could have known I was quickening. Then I married Kenneth, and it seemed more expedient to just let him be father to Jamie.”

“Expedient? Expedient?” he sputtered angrily. “ ’Tis obvious that the man knew Jamie was not of his seed.” An alarming thought occurred to Rurik then. “Did he mistreat the boy?” Oh, he would never forgive her that negligence. Never!

She shook her head vehemently. “I would never have allowed that. He just ignored him most times, even in the beginning when he had no reason to doubt his fatherhood. ’Twas only later that Jamie’s appearance made it obvious he was no MacNab. Nay, Rurik, you must believe me. Kenneth never struck Jamie. He only…”

Rurik divined her unspoken words. Kenneth had only struck her. He closed his eyes and inhaled and exhaled several times for calm. Because his seed had taken root in a woman’s body, she had been subjected to physical punishment from another man. Did she not know how he would feel knowing that? But, nay, he refused to take the blame for her sins.

“So, you did not tell me in the beginning because I was far away, and because you had a new husband to appease,” he said in a surprisingly calm voice as he opened his eyes and speared her with a glower. “What is your excuse for not telling me these past days I have been here in Scotland?”

“Fear.”

Well, that made sense, he supposed. “Fear of what?”

“You.”

That made sense, too. “I do not make a habit of beating women, even when I am sore angered.”

“ ’Twas not fear of physical pain that locked my tongue. ’Twas fear that you would take Jamie away from me.”