Chapter 3

3

" I did it for ye, lass."

"Oh, Struan, I canna believe ye are replacing me in my duties." Anice's voice rose in pitch and her accent was back. Struan knew she was mightily upset with him and his decision. But she had left him no choice.

"Ye canna continue to drive yerself into the ground, Anice. Ye are a woman breeding and ye must consider the babe."

Her face drained of all color; she wore the look of a wounded animal. He felt ill at ease hurting her feelings this way but, as laird, he had to step in and stop her. The next generation of the family lay in her belly and he would protect it as he should have protected her.

"I am no' replacing ye, Anice. The new steward will need yer guidance until he finds his way here. Ye will still have yer work."

He watched as she approached him. Her eyes darted back and forth, her breathing was irregular, and her skin took on a gray pallor. Fear was overtaking her—he had seen this before. She reached out to take his hand and then stopped cold as she realized what she almost did. She must be desperate— she never tried to touch anyone. Not since...

"Please, Struan, dinna do this to me. I have been faithful to the clan, to ye. I have done my duty well. Please, I need my work. I need my duties. It keeps me... going." He knew the word she stumbled on: sane.

"Lass, yer belly is getting bigger by the day and ye canna keep up the pace ye've set yerself to for much longer. The new steward will help ye now that Dougal canna, and he will carry on yer duties when ye are in yer childbed."

She must have realized that he would not back down from this, because her eyes lost their wildness. He could see her regain control over herself bit by bit until the Anice known to the clan was back facing him.

"Who have you chosen for the position, Laird?"

Struan saw that the terrified child was gone and Anice was back in control. He prayed to God nightly that she would rid herself of the paralyzing fear that still ruled her life. That she would begin to enjoy life within the clan again, especially before the babe came. But, so far, the Almighty was ignoring his pleas.

"Robert Mathieson, Dougal's... son." It did not matter that eight years had passed since the terrible argument that had revealed the truth. Struan could not allow himself to think of Robert in any other way.

"Dougal haes a son? I did not know."

"He left Dunnedin long afore ye came to us, Anice. He went to the MacKillops for training and now serves as their steward." The old excuse still worked; he would make use of it.

"And he will stay on here?"

"Nay, he will no'."

Without meaning to, Struan raised his voice in denial. Robert could not stay here after he fulfilled his duty. Too many problems, too many lies, too many mistakes from the past would lie open. Nay, he could not.

"The MacKillop wants him to return as soon as he is no' needed any longer here. So, ye see, Anice, ye will have yer duties back after ye recover from the birth of yer bairn."

With her head bowed, she nodded. "Yes, Laird," she whispered. "I will obey your commands."

Oh, dear God, what he wouldn't give to have the old Anice back. The one with the noble airs and the infuriating tone of voice. The one who insisted on being addressed as "milady" and who never trembled in fear before any man.

"Robert will arrive in a few days, Anice. Can ye find a suitable chamber for him to use during his stay?"

She smiled at him and nodded, obviously pleased to be given a task, however mundane it was. He watched her turn to leave the room, when she stopped at the door.

"Struan, may I ask a boon?"

"Anything wi'in my power to give ye is yers, Anice." He meant it.

"Can we keep my dealings with your... son a private thing?"

"Aye, Anice, there's no need for Robert to be privy to yer private life."

"Thank you, Laird."

One day, long ago, he had waited for the day this lass would finally call him Father. He had waited for the day she would joyfully give him many plump grandchildren to carry and spoil. 'Twas not meant to be. He regretted that more than anything else ruined by his son.

Sandy, as it turned out, was the despoiler not only of virgins, but also of dreams. Struan shook his head in regret as Anice turned and left the room.

Anice made her way to Dougal's chamber. The poor man was withering away before their eyes and no one could slow his deterioration down a bit. Moira tried all the potions and herbal concoctions she knew how to brew and it was all for naught. Well, Anice thought, at least his son would see him before he passed over.

The door was open and Moira was tending the dying man, wiping his brow and face. Anice had tolerated Dougal in his role of steward, but she had never liked him, although that thought felt uncharitable as the man lay near death. At least he had lived a long, full life and God had granted him a son.

Her hand moved to her belly as it always did now when she thought about children. Would this be a son for the clan or a daughter for her? If only Moira would share her knowledge.

Instead she always answered that things would work out for best. But whose best? Hers? The babe's? God forbid, Sandy's?

"Does the bairn move inside ye?" Moira's voice broke into her thoughts .

"Aye, he moves much more now than before." She always called the babe "he" as if she knew the matter had already been decided. She rubbed her fingers over the spot that moved.

Moira stood as she approached the bed. The healer reached out towards her belly but paused, waiting for permission. Moira was one of few whose touch she could bear, but the woman always asked first. Anice nodded her consent and Moira's hands encircled the bulge of the babe and spread outward. She pushed lightly against the movements from within.

Anice smiled as Moira continued her poking and prodding. For some reason, Moira's touch soothed her and she felt the tension of the encounter with Struan leave her body. Moira stopped with her hand on top of the mound and smiled, too.

"All is well?" Anice asked, hoping for some small clue.

"All is well. Have ye been resting?" Moira met her glance.

"I try."

"Ye are a liar, Anice MacNab, and no' a verra good one at that."

"When the new steward arrives, I will have nothing to do but rest, Moira."

"New steward? Haes Struan spoken of him to ye, lass?" The news of the visitor seemed to excite Moira.

"Aye, Moira, Dougal's son is coming home to serve in his faither's place. Until I recover from the birth of the babe."

Moira walked around her and sat by the bedside again, tending to Dougal. Anice could see she was deep in thought about the return of the son. Mayhap she knew this Robert Mathieson and could tell her about him.

"Struan said that Robert left before I came here to live. Did you know him, Moira?" Anice pulled her woolen shawl tighter around her shoulders and sat on a stool next to the window.

"Aye, he grew up here and left for the MacKillops at the same time I was marrying my first husband Gordon."

Anice shivered at the thought of marriage. If God was merciful, she had seen as much of married life as she would ever see .

"Duncan, the MacKillop, offered to train Robert as a steward."

"But, 'tis so strange. Why did Dougal not train the boy himself?" A father usually trained his own son, unless he was noble born—then he was sent as a foster son to another clan. Even daughters were fostered before their marriage, just as she had been sent to the home of her betrothed. Another shiver rocked her being. That had been another Anice, at another time.

"The two of them fought at every step, as faither and son sometimes do. Struan thought it best to make arrangements with Duncan. The plan was always to have him back with us but it haes never come to pass."

"Until now. He returns within the week, Moira." She stood and walked to the door. "Which reminds me—I must pick out a suitable chamber for him and have it readied."

"Yer a good lass, Anice. Dinna worry, all things have a way of working themselves out."

"You are doing that voice again, Moira." She laughed at the frown on Moira's face. "Remember you have promised to teach me that before the bairn comes."

"I will, Anice. Ye have plenty of time left afore that happens."

"Do you need anything for Dougal before I go?"

"Nay, I have what I need here. Remember to rest, Anice."

"I will, Moira. I promise." Anice left and headed for the second floor and the unused chambers.

"Liar." Moira's voice followed her up the stairs.

When Struan entered the sickroom, he found her kneeling before the hearth, staring into the flames. As in the past, he knew not to interrupt. The room seemed smoky to him, as if the fancy chimney didn't work. More smoke poured into the room than left it through the small opening. Yet, the ailing man on the bed did not seem to be bothered by it. When Struan could fight it no longer, he coughed.

A few minutes later, the smoke began to clear and the flames died down. He shook his head in wonderment—he had watched the seer receive her "wisdom," as she called it, before, but it never ceased to amaze him. She sat back on her heels and opened her eyes, but she still gazed at the hearth.

"Yer habit of sending yer sons away will haunt ye, Struan. Ye must deal with the problems of yer past afore they take over yer life and yer soul and destroy the verra thing ye seek to protect."

"What do ye mean, Moira?"

"Ye must decide which of yer sons is to lead the clan after ye and ye must stand by him and teach him. Sending them away just prolongs the trouble to come."

"My sons? I have but one son and ye ken he is no' fit to lead the clan."

Moira looked at him—looked through him—and smiled. "He haes his maither's eyes, but they are the color of yours. Ye can play out the charade, or acknowledge him afore the clan and gain their acceptance. The decision is yers. Think ye well upon it."

A momentary flash of silver-gray cat's eyes intruded from his memory. He shook his head, trying in vain to stop the rest of the image from forming in his mind. The black flowing hair, the creamy white skin, the voluptuous figure that first caught his eye.

Glynnis!

He could see her again as she looked the day she arrived for her marriage to Dougal. A marriage arranged by the old laird to his cousin, she was his one true betrayal of Edana. Oh, he had his mistresses, as was his right, but he'd loved Glynnis. She died bearing her... their son all those years ago.

He thought that no one had known the truth of it. Dougal had mourned her death and raised the child as his own—until eight years ago. But Edana had known somehow, had always known, she said as she revealed the boy's true parentage in a terrible argument. All in the solar heard it—Struan, Dougal, Sandy, and the boy.

Dougal never suspected, but he'd reacted as any man faced with a son not of his own get—he'd turned from the boy in anger. The steward owed a duty to the laird and could not turn from that, so the boy bore the worst of it. He could still see Robert's face, his expression at the news that he was the natural son of the laird. Struan would regret to his dying day that he did not acknowledge the boy then and there. Robert waited for it, so did the others, but the words caught in his throat. But why?

He sent the boy to the MacKillop for training as a steward. Sandy eventually went to England with King David. Edana was dead four years now. She forgave him his sin against her, she'd told him on her deathbed. But Dougal never did. The man's hatred simmered below the surface, ready to boil over at any moment. They never mentioned Robert or Glynnis. Dougal carried out his duties and Struan accepted the situation.

Now, the boy returned.

Dougal would have been furious at the thought of Robert taking over the duties he'd held, but he would not know now. He would most likely die before Robert arrived, without ever knowing the boy was even here.

What would he be like? In spite of the fact that Duncan had sent reports and invited him to visit, Struan had not laid eyes on the boy since he left. He was a gangly thing, all legs and arms, back then. Thin, his manly growth yet to happen. What would he look like now? Would more of his mother's or father's features show through? The clan may know him without a word being spoken in his behalf.

He was almost a year older than Sandy. Well, at least training him for a stewardship would keep him from expecting more than his due. As a natural son, he could inherit if Struan and the clan elders chose him, but that was unlikely since a legitimate heir lived and breathed.

He glanced at the bed where Dougal lay dying. Struan now deeply regretted that he had never forced the issue between them into the open and had never explained his actions of the past to his steward, and his former friend.

"Sometimes just saying the words out loud will help yer conscience."

Moira, it sometimes seemed to him, could also read thoughts—or guilty minds.

"It will do no good, Moira, he canna hear me. "

"Ye'd be surprised what he could hear, mayhap with his heart and no' his ears. If ye speak from yer heart."

Struan ran his hands through his hair. So many years gone, so many kith and kin gone without time to speak from the heart.

"Make yer peace with him as ye did with Edana. 'Tis time, Struan." Moira gathered her things together in a basket and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Struan walked to the bed and sat on the chair next to it. He leaned over and placed his hand on the other man's arm.

"Dougal, old friend, I have some things to be telling ye."

And the laird spoke from his heart for the first time in a long time.