Chapter 14

Cragenlaw, at last.

Rob had sent the housecarls ahead of them and now, as he rode Gun-eagal up the narrow road atop the narrow spit of land, he could see the gates stood wide, pipers playing atop the gate towers. Below, housecarls lined the edges of the steep drop either side of the gate, thumping their shields in time with a tune of triumph and pride he’d never heard afore—a song that made his heart swell because of who and what he was—a McArthur of Cragenlaw.

What he hadn’t expected was the formality of the occasion, and though he didnae turn his head, he wondered whether Melinda watched frae the wagon she, Becky and his sons travelled in together.

The McArthur hadn’t come down to meet them at the gate, nor even the lower Bailey where they halted the wagons and dismounted their horses. A lad much like he’d once been himself when he arrived at Cragenlaw twelve years ago ran up to take Gun-eagal’s reins frae him, eager to take him to the stables and tend to the big horse’s needs. It reminded him of when the McArthur had given in and let him look after Diabhal. He’d felt proud to have the McArthur’s notice—trust. It wasn’t until much later he discovered that he and Euan McArthur were father and son.

Just as eager to be home, Rob leapt onto the cobbles, and with a slap on Gun-eagal’s rump strode to the wagon Guaril drove; behind him, Melinda and the wet-nurse tended to his bairns. For a moment he imagined the joy he would have seen in Mhairi’s face had she still lived. The McArthur’s auld nurse had always been there for Euan in yon dark days when the curse took three wives as well as their sons frae him—days when the McArthur had been unaware that he already had a son. History was now repeating itself in much the same way.

Melinda had taken so much frae him and then had turned on him as if he had nae rights. It was obvious she wasnae the lass he had once loved; reality had opened his eyes to her transformation frae a loving lassie to a vitriolic witch, and he nae longer had it in him to care.

He had thought long and hard on the journey frae Kinross to Cragenlaw, listing in his mind what mattered in order of priority. Harry and Ralf were at the top of the list. Melinda could go her own way if she had a mind to—return to Wolfsdale—but first she would wed him and leave behind his bairns. They would be McArthur sons and nae man would be able to gainsay them or label them bastards.

Ach, he had never blamed Morag, or Euan either for refusing to marry her rather than chance losing her to the curse. He would have done the same. On the other hand, his grand love for Melinda had suffered a rare setback; not even for the bairns’ sake could he feel anything for a woman who had made her hatred of him abundantly plain.

“Nhaimeth,” he called waving his friend to his side. “Let a lad tend to yer mount and come with me; don’t be so independent.”

“Aye, right away,” he answered, his mouth widening in a toothy grin as he echoed Rob’s own feelings, “Ach, it’s grand to be home.”

Guaril had jumped down frae the front of the wagon and now standing behind it held back the leather flap to reveal the lasses who looked a bit weary and travel-stained, though a basin of warm water and some food would take care of most of that.

“Here, Becky,” Rob said, “hand Ralf over to me and then Harry after him. I want to carry them both into Cragenlaw by myself,” he finished, uncaring who saw the pride shining off him, as if the sun had gilded him or he had been dipped into some of the gold and silver Gavyn had brought back with him frae France.

The light dulled slightly as he saw Melinda’s reaction to the mention of Harry, her hands tightened round the bairn and her lips flattened against her teeth, as if suppressing a grimace, as if not speaking meant she hid her feelings. Rob said naught, he simply tucked Ralf in one arm and waited for Becky pass Harry out to him, then gave in and growled, “Let go of him, Melinda. They’re all waiting to meet him. After all, he is my heir.”

Almost immediately she did as he asked, which allowed him to continue, “Guaril, will ye help the ladies down frae the wagon? When that’s done, I would like ye and all the women to join the group following me and Nhaimeth up to the castle, my father is waiting for us.”

He gently jiggled the lads in his arms, soothing them as they waited for the motley troop to form, for aye they were an untidy, bedraggled lot, but his father would see past their dirt and tiredness, for today Rob was bringing him the grandest prize he was ever likely to behold—two grandsons, heirs. If he had naught else guid to say about Melinda, she had done the clan proud, for the lads were more, much more than he had hoped to find when he went in search of her, not last summer but the one afore it. That would have been during part of the time she was still big with child. It was nae wonder she had never come beyond the curtain wall.

The pipers had climbed down frae their perch high on the gate towers, still playing, though now the notes emerged in a softer chant. He watched his sons’ eyes following the splendid sight as, on the heels of the pipers, they wended their way into the upper Bailey and to the broad steps leading them into the castle where his father and mother awaited them. Euan had honoured him by dressing in full regalia, his best plaid kilted around his hips, eagle feathers flying on his bonnet, and silver buckle shining on his belt.

Aye, his father was still a fine figure of a man.

Morag, Rob’s mother, stood proudly by Euan’s side, her love for him obvious frae the glances she cast up at his face. In truth, compared to him and Euan, his mother was just a wee bit of thing, having to look up to both of them. There naught had changed; she had always looked at Euan with love in her eyes. Today, though, the openness of the way they expressed their love for one another seemed to matter. His parents had what he had expected to come to him—a loving wife and a beautiful family, especially sons, as they mattered for the continuation of the clan. Now it appeared he had everything except the loving wife. Was it over-ambitious to want it all?

His mother smiled down on him frae the top of the entrance steps, she and the McArthur blocking the way. He caught something in Morag’s glance—a warmth, a sadness that he refused to let turn him frae his course. Supported in Rob’s arms, both lads’ heads turned in the direction of his parents—their grandparents—stares fixed on the new people afore them. As echoing their father’s every gesture, Harry and Ralf lifted their chins and stared at his parents, interested, the way they had looked about them as he carried them through the Bailey. It made Rob wonder if his lads saw their future laid out afore them from the height of their father’s arms.

Their father... simply letting the words slide across his mind sent a shimmer of wonder through his heart. His sons had come home. Striding up the steps, he halted one stone tread below Euan. A show of respect like a bow was out of the question with the twins in his arms. He settled for a nod to first one then the other. “Father, Mother, I’ve brought yer grandsons home.” He lifted one elbow followed by the other, raising them in turn. ‘This lad is Harry, the elder of the two, and this one is Ralf. I think he looks the most like me—and his McArthur grandfather—apart frae having his mother’s green eyes.”

The McArthur stepped down, his eyes level with Rob’s as he paused to chuck one of his grandsons under the chin and then did the same to the other, then he laughed. “Two braw lads. Just be thankful they’re not the age ye were when I first learned of ye. I can’t see ye carrying them both in yer arms once they turn eleven.”

Rob could tell his mother was eager for her turn to get up close with Harry and Ralf, but she was always an example of the courtesy that should be shown a Chieftain, and Euan had to pull her off the top step to stand beside him. She took one look and Rob saw her fall in love with his sons. “Ach, what handsome lads. Which lass is their mother?”

Melinda spoke up frae over his shoulder, her voice more strident than he was used to, “That would be me. I’m the mother of both Harry and Ralf.”

Morag nodded her head. “Norman names?”

He could almost feel Melinda bristle as she moved closer to his side—closer to the arm that held Harry. “That’s because I am Norman, and so are my sons. Harry here is the heir.”

“Nae, ye have that wrong,” his mother cut in. “Rob is the heir to Cragenlaw. Harry won’t become heir unless Rob dies.” It was obvious to Rob that his mother still held a grudge against the loss of Wolfsdale to Normans. Why else would she act so obtuse?

“I meant the heir to Wolfsdale. My father is the Baron.”

His mother huffed down her nose, and Rob had visions of a catfight ensuing. “As was my father before him, though in actuality my brother Gavyn Farquhar is the rightful heir to Wolfsdale.” She said the last with force, putting an end to the controversy. “Euan, invite our guest in. This in nae place to discuss family history in front of strangers.”

Melinda’s jaw dropped at that particle of news, as he had deliberately not broached the subject of his family connection while being held for ransom. Now, he brought the subject to an abrupt end by saying, “Melinda won’t be a stranger for long. Have someone summon the priest, for I would wed her afore the day’s out.”

Rob noticed that neither his mother nor his intended bride appeared too happy with that announcement.

Wed already? Melinda clamped her teeth down hard on the answer gathering in her throat, roaring at the back of her mind. Who said I would wed him? Not I!

Her feet moved as though by themselves as she trailed after Rob and his family—and her family, her sons, Aye both of them, even Ralf, though she found it hard to confess. But marriage? No.

She knew Becky thought her a terrible mother, but she couldn’t help herself. Every time she looked Ralf’s wee face she saw Rob and remembered how he had hurt her. She couldn’t let him do that again. With that thought spinning though her mind, she found her voice again, “I won’t wed ye.”

Arms still full of bairns, Rob turned awkwardly, pinned her with his eyes and all that came to her mind was how could Ralf have learned that exact look of derision when he hadn’t met his father until two days ago. The man telling her she would wed him, added to her humiliation by raising a thick dark brow as if that was how little he cared for her opinion. “I don’t remember asking ye, but then I have nae need. Ye gave me yer promise and I consider it binding.”

God help her, he had the right of it. She bit her lip and the sharp discomfort of teeth on skin helped to restore her composure. “I’ll—”

Rob cut her off with a biting comment, “Not now. Ye can tell me how much ye hate me later. Can ye not see we’re blocking the doorway?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to stride into the hall with a son in each arm, leaving her to follow. Her heart twisted as she heard Harry whimper, and she hurried through the large arched entrance to reach him. A mother always knew when her child needed her. Even in that, she was thwarted when Rob ducked his dark head towards Harry who reached up to grasp a handful of silky black hair, then Rob said something to her son that made him laugh, and she entered the Hall in the wake of laughter frae three of the males she most loved in her life, whether she would ever show the truth of it or not

She shredded her next breath in through her teeth as one thought led to another. God help her, she still loved him, but she would never let it show. Down that road lay the way to hell as she knew it, a path she no longer wanted to tread. When he butted in and told her off for blocking the doorway, she had been about to tell him ‘I’ll ne’er again lie with ye ’. That was a promise to herself she had no intention of breaking. She had thought to drive him away when she told him she hated him. All that had done was showed her she was dealing with a stubborn Scot. Her words had driven away the lad she remembered. The lad she had loved, the light in his eyes, his delighted expression when he had gently unwrapped her frae the length of fabric preventing her movements—that man had fled as she spewed out her ire and left in his place a man who would never be dictated to, not by her nor her father.

She was determined not to love him, and mayhap that was the answer. The more she professed to hate him, the more he would come to hate her and dismiss her from his life. Yes, that was the way. She drew herself up to full height. She knew how to act spoiled and haughty; if there was any memory of Ester remaining in the far reaches of her mind, it was that one. Her mother was a grand example of what she needed to do. Over the years she had listened to her father ramble on when the worse for drink and realised that her mother’s death had been no great tragedy in Henry La Mont’s life. Her father had been glad to find himself a widower.

From his clenched jaw, roughened with dark stubble and the piercing glance he had thrown at her, Melinda was well aware she had set herself an impossible task. Could she drive Rob to that place where naught was farther from his mind than wanting to take her body, from needing to thrust inside her and fill her womb with his seed? Surely two heirs was enough for any man.

They had been for Henry La Mont. In fact, she felt he would have been as happy with one. She had realised his introduction of her to Sir Charles St Clair wasn’t done without some end that would benefit her father. If she had been able to abandon her fears earlier, she would have predicted the likely consequences of being sunk deep in the results of her own hurts and fears. She did not have to die to make his life easier. He simply had to marry her off and keep her sons, no doubt to bring them up in his own image.

Mayhap Rob’s abducting her sons was to Harry and Ralf’s advantage, but she had just about come to the conclusion that dying might have been easier for her than the course that lay ahead. She looked up at her surroundings, at the size and breadth of the Hall and the richness of the tapestries lining the walls. Her father might have laden his voice with scorn when he spoke of the Scots as rough barbarians who lived in naught but hovels, but in the McArthur clan’s case, he would have to swallow his words.