Chapter 4

4

B reaking through the last barrier of trees that blocked his view, Robert reined in and dismounted his black stallion. Dunnedin lay before him, the village spread out to the other forest, the castle and keep in front of him.

Eight years.

Not a day passed in those years when he did not think about returning. He never knew why he wanted to return— there was nothing here waiting for him.

Dougal made it clear the night of the argument that Robert was no longer his son. His actions in the next weeks were the proof—Dougal shunned him and threw his few meager belongings out of the room they shared in the keep. The insults were the worst. His chest tightened with the memories of the words flung at him in anger.

Bastard son of a lying whore.

At first, he thought it couldn't be true, the accusations about his mother, dead all those years. But the look on the laird's face and his lack of denial about his affair with Dougal's wife told the truth well enough.

Robert remembered waiting, waiting for Struan to say more after admitting by default to his fathering Glynnis's child. He had held his breath, fisted his hands, and waited. The laird looked at his wife and legitimate son, and then at him.

Please, please, please.

He'd offered a silent prayer to the Almighty, one that He chose to ignore at the time. 'Twas not meant to be, then or now. Nothing in Struan's message even acknowledged their true relationship.

And, of course, Robert couldn't forget that his half- brother had married the MacNab heiress and the marriage was about to bear fruit. There was no need in the clan for recognition of an additional son—an heir and another on the way protected the future of the MacKendimens.

Robert pulled on the reins of his horse and began walking towards the castle gate. A rock sitting in the pit of his stomach told him that this was probably not a good idea, no matter how much time had passed. Well, if he was lucky, Dougal was beyond expressing his hatred.

What about Struan? This had to grate on him—asking his true son to return to take over the duties of the man everyone in the clan thought was his father. Would anyone know the truth? How would he be treated now? Did they even know of the rank and power he held in the clan MacKillop? He may have started out as a steward, overseeing supplies for the castle, but his fighting and strategic abilities soon led him to the higher role of castellan.

Coming back to take over Dougal's duties was a step down for him and he knew that Duncan thought he did it only because of the family ties involved. He was not certain if Duncan had been told the truth about him or not. The only one at Dunbarton Keep who was privy to his side of the sad story was Ada. And she told no tales.

"Come, Dubh, 'tis the dragging it out that makes it worse." He rubbed his stallion's nose and mounted in one jump. The horse snorted steam into the frigid winter air and pawed at the dirt. "They'll no' see Robert Mathieson, castellan of Dunbarton, walking into Dunnedin like a common beggar."

He wrapped his heavy cloak and his pride around him and sat up straight. Taking a deep breath, Robert squeezed the horse's sides, urging him into action. He steeled himself to expect nothing from Struan or the clan. When his time of duty was over, he would return to the MacKillops and be welcomed.

He did not need the MacKendimens.

Some of the faces looked familiar to him as he walked up the steps to the main floor. A few of the warriors, a few of the women. By now, Struan knew of his arrival. What would he say? What would he do? Once he arrived at the doorway to the great hall, Robert stopped and looked around the room. It looked the same. Oh, a few newer tapestries hung on the walls and freshly built tables and benches were set out near the raised dais. A woman's touch was apparent throughout the hall—surely the daughter-by-marriage had had a hand in this. Robert knew of Edana's death now four years past.

His presence caused some whispering through the hall. Robert dropped his sack in the back of the hall and walked forward. He smiled at the curious as he passed them and strode confidently to the dais. The laird awaited him at the steps.

His father.

Struan looked no different from the last time he'd set eyes on him—tall, strong, with thick graying hair, weathered face. Eight years without change. Robert locked gazes with him and could not look away. Struan extended his hand in greeting and Robert grasped it with all his might.

"Robert," Struan's voice seemed to quiver, "welcome back to Dunnedin."

Not "Welcome home." So this was the way of it? Tension twisted his stomach. Robert should have known not to expect more.

"Laird," he said, as he tilted his head in as much of a bow as he was ready to offer. "Ye look well."

"Aye, lad, I am. But all those around me are failing."

"So it would seem."

"Come, Anice, meet Dougal's son." Struan said it seamlessly, no stutter, no hesitation. The pain tightened like a tourniquet around his heart. Dougal's son.

He turned to watch the girl approach. Well, she was really a woman but her face looked so young. Vibrant red hair fell loosely around her shoulders, framing her pale face. Huge, fearful green eyes peered at him when she finally raised her face. She looked too young for the swollen belly she carried. Too young for the sadness that emanated from her. Too young for the fear she wore in her eyes. A wave of sympathy passed through him—mayhap the pregnancy was wearing on her?

She reached him and Struan and stopped, just out of their reach. When he took a step closer to take her hand, she backed up a step. Another step, and she matched it in a bizarre backward dance. Finally, he nodded and smiled at the poor thing and waited for Struan to complete the introduction.

"Anice, this is Robert Mathieson, Dougal's son." Struan looked at Robert and nodded to Anice. "This is my daughter-by-marriage, only daughter of the MacNab, the Lady Anice."

The pain increased in his heart with every mention of Dougal and son but there was no end in sight.

"Anice haes been here for five years and haes served the clan well."

Struan smiled at the girl, who had lost even more color with the introduction and who did not look pleased at this turn of events.

"Breeding haes been hard on her and, for her safety and the babe's, she canna carry on as she haes since yer faither was struck down."

Ah, so 'twas the breeding that caused her problems. He smiled sympathetically at her; he had seen many women carrying bairns at Dunbarton and the problems that came with it. Anice turned away but not before he saw the tears forming, filling her eyes. For herself? The babe? This was stranger than he expected.

"She haes prepared a room for ye and will assist ye in yer duties until ye have a feel for them yerself."

Robert wanted to laugh. A "feel for them"? He knew a steward's duties like the back of his hand. He had trained and served for three years at Dunbarton, until the laird had recognized his greater abilities.

"Anice, will ye show Robert the room ye chose and then take him to see Dougal?"

The girl nodded at the laird and looked at him. Robert smiled at her, trying to lessen the strain, but it was for naught. "This way." Her voice was barely a whisper, as though she did not have the strength to get out more. He nodded and followed her lead.

"Robert," the laird called out, "join me at table for the evening meal. And ye, too, Anice. Be at table." When he would have protested, Struan continued, "I want no argument from either of ye. Be here." Then Struan strode across the room and was gone.

Robert turned back to Anice and gestured for her to go. Following her to the back of the hall, he picked up his bag and then continued behind her to the curving staircase leading up one of the towers. He hurried to her side and offered his arm for the climb, but she waved him off and gathered her skirts. She didn't want him there and refused his help, that much was plain to see. But why? They reached the third floor and she was puffing and blowing. He again held out his hand to her, but she backed away as fast as she could.

"My lady, let me help ye." He offered his arm again.

"Dinna call me that. I am no' yer lady. I am Anice." She backed up to the wall and looked near to fainting. He was tempted to pick her up and carry her, when her body relaxed a bit. After taking a few deep breaths, she spoke. "I beg your pardon, Robert. I would prefer to be called by my Christian name if you don't mind." Her voice was soft, with but a touch of Scottish lilt to it.

"But ye are entitled to be called ‘lady.'" He could not think of any woman who wouldn't want to be afforded all the privilege her rank of birth and marriage could give her.

"Just Anice is fine. The clan knows my wishes and follows them. I would appreciate it if you could as well while you are with us."

"As ye wish, my... Anice." She stepped away from the wall and went in the direction of the passageway. "If it is too difficult for ye to show me to my room, just tell me which chamber ye readied for me."

"Nay, I am fine now." She rested her hand on her belly and moved it in a circular path over the mound. "When the babe moves, it is sometimes difficult to breathe. Here"—she pointed to a nearby door—"this is your room." She pushed open the door and let him enter.

The chamber was spacious and, other than the huge bed, devoid of furnishings. A small hearth, an extravagance for Struan, was built into one corner and vented outside by a metal hood built into the wall over it. There were freshly woven rushes on the floor and he could smell herbs in the air. He threw his bag in an empty corner and took his heavy winter cloak off and hung it by the door.

"I will have a chest and table brought in for you. I was not certain...." She paused.

"Certain what?" He probed for an answer.

"Where you would work. There is a small chamber on the main floor near the kitchen. That is where I keep the records and do most of my work. I was not certain if you would rather work here or there."

"It would seem more efficient to work nearer to the supply rooms and kitchen. I will follow your example." She sounded as if she knew what she was doing. Usually the lady of the castle supervised in an advisory way, but Lady...Anice seemed to be a practiced steward.

"Is this chamber to your satisfaction?" She wouldn't meet his glance—her eyes darted around the room from her position by the open door. He then noticed she had not even entered the room.

"Aye, Anice, 'tis a fine room. Do ye think ye could find me some clothes to put in that chest? I brought only what's in that bag, I'm afraid, and what's on my back."

"We always have extra clothing available; I will find some for you." She paused and her gaze roamed over his body.

Robert put his hands on his hips and turned once in a circle. When he faced Anice again, he saw the deep red hue spreading up her face. She was blushing! Well, 'twas a far better thing than looking so pale all the time.

"Well, can ye tell my size now?" he teased her, smiling at her bashful expression.

"Ye are almost the same size as Alex. There are still some things I made for him that should fit you."

"Alex?"

"He is... was... a distant relative who... ah... stayed here the summer before last. I'll look in the linen room to see what's there." She rubbed her hands on her tartan skirt and cleared her throat.

"Whatever ye have will be fine with me. Beggars canna be choosy."

"Do ye wish to see yer faither now?" She took a step back into the hallway.

"Aye. But, ye dinna have to take me, just tell me the way."

"He is in the sickroom on the floor below us. Turn into the right-hand corridor and it is the third door on your left."

"Thank ye, my... Anice, for all of this." Robert gestured at the warm, clean room.

"It was no problem, Robert. I hope your stay is a good one for you."

"Ah, Anice?" He didn't want her to go. She had changed before his eyes from a scared child to a capable woman. Who else could she be? "Would it be possible to get some food and drink afore the evening meal? I have been on the road most of the day wi'out breaking my fast."

"Oh, Robert," she gasped. "I completely forgot to offer you some refreshments. Please, pardon me while I see to them."

She started to leave so he grabbed her arm to keep her. The tensing of her whole body in reaction to his grasp surprised him into releasing her. She shook off his touch like a dog shaking off water after a swim in the loch. As she stepped away, she pulled her heavy shawl around her shoulders in a protective motion.

"Nay, do no' hurry. I will come to the hall after I see... Dougal."

"Very well, Robert. I will have something ready for you at the high table."

"I would rather eat in the kitchen... if ye dinna mind?"

"I will have it ready in the kitchen, then." She nodded to him again without meeting his eyes.

Realizing that she didn't mean to move from her spot, he walked past her back towards the tower steps. He slowed his pace on those steps, dreading what was to come now. If he was lucky, Dougal would not wake while he was there.

She walked to the next room and sank onto a small bench, her legs turned to jelly. The babe started his kicking and marauding in her belly, so she put her hand on top of the motion and waited for it to pass. Leaning her head back, she rested it on the cold wall and closed her eyes.

How did she think she would ever be able to work next to this man? At least she knew those in the clan already; she had done most of her growing up here with them. Struan, Calum, Brodie. Even the younger ones didn't bother her so much anymore. But this man?

She saw his form from where she sat by the hearth in the great hall long before she could make out any details. Tall, muscular, flowing wild black hair. The rest of him was finely formed, the arms and legs of a warrior, not a steward. He was built as Alex MacKendimen had been built—strong muscles, long legs, but not as big and bulky as Brodie.

But his eyes! When Struan called her over closer, his eyes drew her attention even before his form. They were like the eyes of a great hunting cat—slanted at the corners, but an icy blue color, when she would have expected green or even yellow. And they sparkled every time he stumbled over her name.

My... Anice.

Shivers pulsed through her at the warmth in those eyes and deep voice as her name became almost a possession when he said it.

And his sharp glance missed nothing as it took in everything, everyone in the room. She was certain she saw pity in his eyes as he looked at her.

One day, not long ago, she would have enjoyed meeting someone like this, someone from another place, like she was. Someone to talk with and enjoy. But her husband had ruined that for her in one short night and the days and weeks that followed. Now, even the thought of being near the newcomer made her heart race—out of fear, not excitement. Her duties, such as they were, revolved around this man. Mayhap once she started helping him in his duties, she would lose some of the fear.

The babe quieted in her belly and she pushed off the wall and back onto her feet. She would meet him in the kitchen after he visited with his father. Poor man, returning under such sad circumstances. Walking to the hall, she made her way slowly down the steps to the main floor. She would see to his comfort as her last official duty before Struan made his announcement at supper.

What would happen to her without her work to keep her going? Days and days of endless worrying? Worrying about the babe? About whether and when Sandy would decide to come home again? She could not spend the remaining weeks of her pregnancy that way. She must find something to do, to keep her mind from being overrun with fear. Something.