Chapter 2

2

" A nything from Molly?"

Sarah stood in Charlotte's office, sorting the mail that had just arrived.

"Nothing," Sarah said, and Charlotte sank back to her chair, feeling defeated.

"I wrote a week and a half ago," she sighed. "Surely she's gotten the message by now?"

"Perhaps she is away," Sarah suggested. "I know she wouldn't delay in responding if she got your letter. It must not have reached her yet."

Charlotte nodded. The same evening she learned Ben's identity, she wrote to her friend Molly. Molly lived in Scotland, married to a laird herself, so Charlotte hoped Molly could give her more information on this Laird O'Malley. Ben still hadn't spoken, and Charlotte was desperate to learn anything she could about the place he had come from.

"I don't know what to do," Charlotte sighed. "The longer we keep him here, the more likely someone will come looking for him."

"You mean the boy's father?" Sarah asked. Sarah and Charlotte had spent many nights speaking about the mysterious child who could not speak. His words haunted Charlotte daily: A monster is coming for me.

"He might have run away," Charlotte reasoned. "What if his father is the one who hurt him? "

Sarah cleared her throat, and Charlotte looked up. Ben stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe and staring at Charlotte.

"Your shadow," Sarah said gently, and Charlotte stood up, forcing an immediate smile to her face.

"My goodness, is it dinnertime already?" Charlotte asked, moving toward Ben. "Thank you so much for reminding me."

Charlotte guided Ben to the dining room, letting him sit next to her. Ever since his arrival, the boy hardly left her side, and dinnertime was no exception. She spent each meal coaxing him to eat more while she teased him about the knots in his midnight black hair.

"Perhaps it's time to cut it," Charlotte teased, and she watched Ben shake his head aggressively, smiling at the joke they always played.

A slam in the hallway made everyone in the dining hall look up. The children's chatter died down as they heard men's voices, loud and aggressive.

"Where is he?" a voice called out.

Charlotte saw Ben cower at the words, and her body turned cold with dread.

"Wait here," she said, standing up. She rushed forward, wanting to put her body between the children and whatever was in the hallway, but she wasn't fast enough. Only steps from the door, Charlotte saw a tall, broad-shouldered man with raven-black hair fill the doorway. He stepped forward, and a few other men pushed into the room. The younger children shrieked of terror, but Charlotte heard the cries as if she were underwater.

She kept her eyes on the biggest man, the one with the dark hair that matched the hair she had been brushing out every evening. She saw his eyes land directly on the table she had come from.

"Ben!" he cried out, his voice filled with unexpected joy. But when Charlotte looked back at the table, she saw Ben hiding, crouched down so only his eyes were peeking out to keep sight of the man.

It was then, as the man began to walk forward, that Charlotte saw the scars that covered his face, long lines in many directions. He wore his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and Charlotte saw more criss-crossed marks along the skin there.

The monster.

Her body trembled as she took in his strength, his shoulders broad and wide with the muscles of a soldier. He had the same dark hair as Ben with matching black eyes that locked onto Charlotte, making it impossible to look away. She felt her whole body flush at the sight of him, a strange feeling of fear and excitement that made her heart beat faster.

Forcing herself to her full height, Charlotte stepped forward. She swallowed hard as she blocked the man's path, eliciting a withering glare from the monster before her.

"Excuse me, sir," she said, unable to remove the shake from her voice. "I need to ask you for some information. Can you please tell me who you are and what you're doing in my orphanage?"

The man narrowed his eyes at her as he stopped walking. He looked Charlotte up and down, causing a shiver to run up her spine. She felt exposed, the man's gaze intimate and probing.

"Ye want me name?" he asked with a tone cold as ice. "Very well. I'm Alasdair Fleming, Laird of O'Malley. And who, may I ask, are ye?"

"Me?" she asked, and Alasdair nodded, glaring at the woman who stood between him and his son.

When he walked through the orphanage door, he resolved to remove anyone who kept him from his child, but something about this small woman challenging him made the corner of his mouth turn up in amusement. He took in the small, blonde woman who barely came up to his chest and noted the pretty flush across her cheeks.

"Aye," he said. "I would like to ken who challenges me."

He saw her attempt a scowl of her own, scrunching her eyebrows together as she set her mouth firmly across her face.

"I'm Charlotte Repington, and I run this orphanage."

"Then ye're just the lass I need to speak to," Alasdair said. "I'm here for me son."

"We have rules, sir," she said, forming her words carefully to display her crisp English as she addressed him. "People cannot come in here and simply take children. We will need to verify your background."

"Verify me background?" he asked, a surge of frustration overwhelming him as this woman questioned his credentials. Alasdair saw another woman enter the room, dressed in a simple black dress. A number of the children rushed toward the woman. Alasdair saw the girl in front of him lock eyes with the woman in black.

"Yes, sir," she said, turning back to him with her head held high. "Perhaps you can come back tomorrow morning…"

"I willnae come back," he roared. Alasdair saw children cower around him, but he didn't care. It had been two years since he set eyes on his son. Years of false leads and dead ends as he searched everywhere for the boy who had been taken from him. Now that he had found him, he wouldn't let some English woman keep him from his child.

"I will thank you not to yell, sir," she said. "It upsets the children."

"And what about me bairn?" he asked. "Ye would make him wait another day to be reunited with his faither?"

They both looked toward Ben, who was still peeking out from behind the table. Alasdair's chest ached as he saw how much older the child looked. He had been barely five when Alasdair lost him.

The woman turned back to him, and he was surprised to see tears suddenly pooling in her eyes.

"I would have him wait a hundred days if it meant he would be saved from violence at the hands of his father!"

"Violence from me?" Alasdair asked, stepping closer, so he could tower over this woman. Their banter had been amusing at first, but he would not stand here and let the woman accuse him of hurting his child.

"Until I can verify that Ben is safe with you, I won't let you leave with him. I need someone to tell me that you will not hurt the boy."

"And the word of Laird McEwan is not enough?" Alasdair asked. "Werenae ye the one who wrote to him to tell me me son is here?"

"Laird McEwan?" the girl asked. He could see her thinking about this, trying to place the name. "Is that Ciaran McMahon? Husband to Molly?"

"Aye, lass. Who else?"

"And he wrote to you?"

"Aye. To tell me to come and get me son."

He thought he had convinced her. A wavering in her eyes told him she was ready to give in. But then she glanced back at Ben, and when she looked back, her jaw was set even firmer.

"No," she said, matching Alasdair's volume. "I won't hand him over to you until I know you aren't the monster who's chasing him."

"Monster?" Alasdair's fists clenched at his sides, and he was instantly striding forward. He closed the distance between them and towered over her, making the girl's breath come fast as she stared at him. Alasdair watched the rise and fall of her chest as it strained against the neckline of her dress.

"I've been patient," he said through his teeth. "But it's time ye hand over me son. I willnae ask ye again."

Alasdair stepped forward, so his chest was inches from her. Their eyes locked, the space between them crackling with something wild and unnamable. Alasdair had a sudden urge to wrap his arm around her back and pull her body roughly against his own.

"Nay! Daenae hurt her!"

The child's voice pulled Alasdair from the spell of Charlotte's gaze. His son emerged from behind the table, and he saw the blonde woman staring at the boy with a sense of shock and pride he couldn't name. He watched as the boy strode forward, his gaze defiant, before putting himself directly between Charlotte and his father.