Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

H er heart rammed in her throat, Tira had all she could do not to collapse into a heap upon the floor and she grabbed for the doorframe to steady herself.

The hoarseness of Errol’s voice and the surge of emotion across his handsome face flooding her with memories of when she had promised to wed him so long ago. A lifetime ago !

Memories of his strong hands clasping hers as she kissed him, the warm pressure of his lips covering hers after he had proclaimed his love for her—God help her, no, she didn’t want to think upon these things, she couldn’t! Everything had changed between them and could never be the same?—

“Tira, please, lift your head. Look at your fine son, aye, and your wee daughter in her cradle. You’ve refused tae see me at every turn, so I came tae see your bairns—the only way I could be close tae you. Here, hold him for a while so I can look upon you…”

Tira sharply inhaled as the swaddled infant was held out to her, the little one’s fists curled tightly and downy-looking reddish hair upon his head. At once her thoughts flew to Thorgren, but his scalp was shaven and adorned with pagan symbols in blackest ink—no, no, she didn’t want to think about that fiend, either!

Crying out, Tira turned so abruptly that the bairn was knocked from Errol’s outstretched hands and yet somehow she caught him, everyone gasping as she clasped her son against her breasts.

Her chest heaving with fright that he might have dropped to the floor and been harmed, her eyes meeting Errol’s.

He appeared shocked, too, though relief instantly followed and he stepped back as if to give her room, and gestured to the chair set between the two cradles.

“Go sit with him, Tira. I will leave you now. Mayhap later in the day you will allow me tae see you, aye, tae speak with you at last.”

Tira couldn’t seem to tear away her eyes from his, so intensely blue, so searching. She found herself giving him the barest nod only to regret it when he smiled at her as if he couldn’t believe her assent.

His teeth a flash of white and his jaw stubbled with reddish whiskers, the hue nearly the same as her son’s, as if Errol were the father instead of…

A plaintive sigh escaped Tira and she skirted around him and went to sink down in the chair, doing her best to force Thorgren’s face from her mind.

She heard Cora speaking softly to Errol and then he was gone, the room seeming strangely empty without his presence and a telling pang in Tira’s breast.

God help her, she loved him still, she couldn’t deny it, but it no longer mattered. Nothing would make her unsullied and whole again— nothing !

Tears blinded her at the mewling sound from her son, and she stared down at the wonder of him…a sensation like the unfolding of a flower inside her.

She glanced up to see tears shining in Cora’s eyes, too, the beautiful woman who had been so kind to her gently picking up her daughter.

The smaller babe soon settled against Tira so she could cradle both of her children, her tears dripping onto their blankets and wetting their silky-looking skin.

Her son scrunched up his face at the wetness and flailed his fists while her daughter merely slept on, pursing tiny lips as pink as rose petals.

The faintest hint of gold upon the babe’s head that told Tira her daughter would have hair the same hue as hers, mayhap even blonder.

“Shall we consider names for your bairns?” came a soft query, Tira meeting Cora’s gaze of deep blue against milk-white skin, her eyes filled with kindness.

Tira couldn’t give an answer, she was so overcome by the precious weight of her children nestled in her lap and the good will that had surrounded her since she’d arrived at Castle MacLachlan…though a shadow still gripped her heart.

She had become pregnant within a month or so of her abduction so the bairns would have become a part of her life no matter when she had been rescued afterward…but why had no one attempted to find her sooner? Not her father nor Errol nor anyone else while she had suffered such cruelty, such terror that Thorgren might even kill her whenever a drunken rage descended upon him?—

“What was your mother’s name?”

Saved from her crushing reverie by Cora’s query, Tira murmured, “Isobel,” to which Cora gave an approving smile.

“Aye, a beautiful name for your daughter.”

Tira nodded, glancing down at the babe who slept so peacefully, while her son had begun to squirm and stretch, the wet nurse appearing at her side.

“I think he’s hungry. May I take him?”

Again Tira nodded, her throat grown so tight that she didn’t have milk with which to feed her own children, Cora laying her hand upon Tira’s shoulder.

“I couldna nurse my twins, either, but there’s no shame in it. We have two wet nurses now so they’ll have plenty of nourishment tae fill their bellies. Have you thought of a name for the lad? Your late father’s, mayhap—ah, God.”

Cora immediately looked stricken while Tira’s breath caught in disbelief.

“M-my father is dead?”

Cora gave a heavy sigh and murmured, “Aye, some months ago. Forgive me, Tira, I wanted tae wait until you were stronger tae tell you—och, it’s better you know. The loss of your mother and your abduction proved too much for him, though I know little else. Would Monroe be a fitting name for your son in tribute tae him?”

“Aye, Monroe.” Tira could barely speak for the grief overwhelming her along with terrible regret for blaming her father that she hadn’t been rescued. Had his heart given out from anguish over not being able to find her?

She couldn’t deny it would have been a near impossible task with her aboard ship for those first months with Thorgren and constantly sailing from Scotland’s coastline to the Orkneys and then back again for more raids—until that November morning when rescue had been snatched away from her.

Someone must have seen her alongside Thorgren during a raid and that news relayed to Errol and the other Highlanders for them to attack the encampment—och, her head pounded to think of the misery she had endured since that day. She had known then she was with child, Tira wiping away fresh tears with the back of her hand as Isobel slept peacefully in her lap.

“Please…take her from me.”

At once a second wet nurse hastened forward to scoop up her daughter, leaving Tira to rise shakily from her chair.

It was all too much for her…seeing Errol face-to-face…holding her bairns and feeling such love for them no matter the horror that had brought them into the world…and now hearing of her father’s death?—

“Take my arm, Tira. I will walk with you tae your room.”

Gratefully, she obliged Cora, for her legs felt wooden and sapped of strength, Tira stumbling over the threshold.

She heard a feminine gasp, Cora trying to catch her from falling only for Tira to feel herself swept up into powerful arms, Errol’s face etched with deep concern as he carried her down the hall.

“I couldna leave you, Tira. I’ve been standing outside the door waiting tae speak with you—och, lass, dinna cry.”

Errol’s voice hoarse with emotion as another sob burst from Tira, she could no more cease the onslaught of tears than she could slow the racing of her heartbeat to feel him holding her so tightly against him.

His handsome face so dear…his blue eyes so stricken at her distress as she thought wildly of all the times she had dreamt of Errol’s arms around her and not Thorgren’s— not Thorgren’s !

Through the sobs wracking her, Tira felt Errol lay her gently upon the bed as Cora came up behind him to whisk a blanket over her.

“It’s my fault—I shouldna have said a word yet about her father! Och, Errol, you can see that you canna speak tae her now. Later today, I beg you…just as she agreed.”

Near blinded by tears, Tira saw Errol nod and then he was gone from beside the bed while she lifted a hand to reach out to him.

A hand that Cora clutched as if she thought Tira yearned for her comfort, Cora’s voice hoarse now, too.

“Forgive me, Tira…I’m so sorry tae have upset you…”

“God help me, it’s true,” Errol said vehemently under his breath as he stormed from Tira’s bedchamber, the desolate sound of her weeping following him to the tower steps.

The woman he loved more than life loathed his touch, just as he had feared. She hadn’t begun to sob until he had swept her into his arms—och, why hadn’t he been patient and waited until later in the day instead of insisting that he speak with her?

He had been spellbound watching Tira hold her bairns, the tenderness on her face making his heart pound—aye, making him believe all would be well given she hadn’t spurned her wee ones after days of refusing to see them.

Instead she had given them names, Isobel and Monroe, and had cradled them lovingly in her arms as would any new mother.

Her nod of assent about seeing her later had filled him with such hope that he’d been shaken by its intensity and had stood outside the nursery to steady himself, and then decided to stay.

Yet why had she agreed to see him? Clearly from her reaction to his touch, it wasn’t because she longed to speak to him, too…unless she intended to tell him that she no longer loved him and wished for him to leave Castle MacLachlan.

His fists clenching, Errol lunged down the steps three at a time, his heart thundering harder.

By God, how was he to withstand hearing such words from her lips? Soft pink lips he longed to kiss again, the slight weight of her body fueling his determination to protect her for as long as it took to make her smile and look at him with love shining in her eyes as she had a year ago?—

“You’re a fool,” Errol said bitterly, not even noticing the servants scattering out of his way as he strode through the foyer.

He could hear the clash of swords outside and knew Gavin’s men were training in the bailey—as they had done every day since their laird had admonished them to prepare for the battle ahead with the English.

Aye, well, he needed to train, too, for what else was left to him if Tira no longer loved him? A hardened warrior’s life of fighting and killing and trying to forget her—ah, God, as if he ever could!

Roaring in impotent fury, Errol burst outside and unsheathed his sword to run to the nearest man, who spun around in surprise and barely had time to lift his weapon to counter Errol’s blow.

Their clashing swords rang out across the bailey…every slash, every violent thrust making Errol wish Thorgren Sigurdson was facing him for what he had done to Tira, damn that accursed raider to hell!

When the man he fought collapsed to the ground in exhaustion, Errol went after another and another until all around him sprawled a half dozen warriors too spent from his fierce onslaught to lift their weapons.

Still Errol taunted more men to fight him, all of his frustration and anguish from the past year overwhelming him as sweat ran down his face and soaked his tunic, his muscles screaming. With a wild bellow he attacked another man—only to feel something hard strike him on the back of his head that felled him to his knees.

“By God, Sutherland, enough before you kill someone!”

His chest heaving, Errol gazed up through blurred vision at Gavin’s head captain, Lorne MacSween, who lowered the wooden shield he had used to fell Errol.

The man’s black-bearded face grim as he glanced around him at the warriors groaning upon the ground, and then gestured for two others to come forward.

“Take him tae the barracks—och, looks like I hit him a wee bit too hard.”

Errol had crumpled onto his side, the back of his head pounding as blackness descended upon him…an exasperated curse from Lorne and an outcry to fetch the healer the last thing he heard.