Chapter 8

8

" A former nun," Orlaith announced with glee. "I would never have guessed!"

Charlotte was starting to realize that Orlaith spoke in a series of exclamations, each one louder and more enthusiastic than the last. As they ate lunch, the jovial atmosphere around the table was much different from the quiet meals Charlotte had known at the monastery. At Alasdair's table, people spoke over each other and passed plates across each other's faces. They laughed loudly and drank wine with the midday meal.

"Have ye ever been to Scotland before?" Orlaith asked, sopping up the gravy on her plate with a piece of bread.

Charlotte shook her head as she dabbed her napkin at her mouth.

"Never," she said. "It's a whole new adventure."

Orlaith launched into a monologue about all the sights she wanted Charlotte to see and the places she would take her. Next to her, Charlotte heard Hayden and Lennox discussing the most recent clan gossip as giddy as schoolgirls. She felt a lightness in her heart at the warmth around the table.

If the rest of her month here was filled with such happiness, she could leave knowing that Ben was in good hands. She wanted nothing more than to leave him in a home that was bursting with love and laughter.

A squeak of a chair across the floor made everyone stop talking. They all looked to the head of the table where Alasdair stood, and his shadow cast across the plates in front of them. Charlotte didn't like the straight set of his mouth or the darkness she read in his eyes.

"Well now," he said. He turned his body to his right where Ben sat, poking his fingers into a piece of bread. "I think it's time we get some answers."

Charlotte glanced down the table, wondering if anyone understood what Alasdair was speaking about. She caught Hayden's eye, and he gave her the slightest tilt of the head, a clear indication he was just as confused as she was.

"What are ye sayin', Alasdair?" Orlaith asked. She forced a laugh and looked around the table, as if asking the rest of them to join her. But everyone was quiet, feeling the mood in the room change.

"It's time for Ben to tell us where he's been for these two years."

Charlotte felt a sudden urge to pull Ben from his chair and rush him out of the room. But as far as anyone here knew, she was a governess in Alasdair's employ. That made her little more than a servant. The very fact she was at the lunch table eating with them might be considered unorthodox. She couldn't go and remove the boy when his father was speaking to him.

"Tell us who took ye, son."

Ben's eyes darted to Charlotte. It was the same look he gave her when she woke him from a nightmare. It spoke of monsters and danger and an unspeakable horror.

"He cannot—" Charlotte heard herself speak, and she slammed her mouth closed. She felt all eyes swivel to her at the words. There was nothing for it but to continue.

"He hasn't spoken, My Laird. Not since arriving at the orphanage."

"He did speak," Alasdair said, slapping his hand on the hard wood of the table. Charlotte saw the boy jump in his seat. "He spoke the first night I arrived."

"Very briefly," Charlotte reasoned, struggling to keep her voice calm and gentle, imagining the tone a governess would take.

"Ye spoke, Ben," Alasdair said. He moved to Ben's chair and turned it ninety degrees, making it face Alasdair's own. Then Alasdair sat down, nearly knee-to-knee with the child. Charlotte saw the hopeful, open expression in the man's face that told her just how badly the man wanted to know who had taken his son.

"Ye can do it," Alasdair said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just give me a name. Or even a description of the place."

Ben shook his head as he let hair fall into his face. He stared at his feet, shrinking further and further into his chair.

"This is not the place," Charlotte whispered, hoping only Alasdair could hear her. "Perhaps in private."

"Come on, Ben. I need to know." Alasdair's voice grew impatient as he growled out across the room. Charlotte knew his anger was meant for the man who had taken Ben, but she also knew the child would only blame himself. Without another thought for the people in the room, Charlotte stood up.

"That's enough," she cried. Charlotte heard a gasp from across the table, but she ignored it. She crossed to Ben's chair and lifted the child into her arms. Tears were streaming down the boy's face.

"Do ye dare to tell me what to do?" Alasdair asked. He was on his feet then, blocking Charlotte's way as she tried to take the boy from the room.

"I told you I would come here to do what's best for Ben. I'm only doing what I promised you I would."

"By taking the boy from his faither?" Alasdair asked. Charlotte caught sight of the others in the room out of the corner of her eye. They were staring at them in shock, clearly confused by the turn this meal had taken. But Charlotte wouldn't let herself worry about them. She would do what she had to protect Ben, even if it meant embarrassing herself in front of Alasdair's household.

"You are putting your own dreams of revenge in front of your child."

"Dreams?" he echoed. "Do ye think I am happy to live like this?"

"Stop it. Please."

The boy's voice was quiet, but it cut through the room louder than any scream. Charlotte froze as Alasdair's eyes grew wider, staring down at his son with disbelief. Only then did he seem to see Ben for the first time. Only then did he notice the tears that still fell and the gentle sniffles as Ben looked at him pleadingly.

With a grunt of frustration, Alasdair turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

"Well," Orlaith said after a moment of silence. "Quite a governess ye have there, Ben."

"Damn that woman," Alasdair cried, letting his knuckles press into the oak of his desk.

He reached for the scotch he kept on the desk and poured himself a large glass. He sipped greedily, hoping the alcohol would help to ease the burning rage that was making him dream of throwing his fist through the wall. He emptied his glass and quickly poured more.

A knock on the door startled him.

"Go away!"

But the door to his study slowly opened.

"Alasdair?" He saw Lennox peer his head around the door.

He had expected Hayden, so the image of his brother-in-law shocked some of the anger clean out of him. Alasdair nodded and lifted his glass to the man, inviting him to a drink. Lennox gave a small smile before entering and closing the door behind him.

"That was interesting," Lennox said as he took a glass from Alasdair's hand. Alasdair crossed to the oversized chairs that sat in front of the hearth. With a sigh, he collapsed into one, letting the final remnants of rage seep out of him.

"Not what ye were expecting for yer afternoon meal?" Alasdair asked wryly. He watched Lennox carefully approach the furniture before taking a seat across from him.

"That's some woman ye brought home," Lennox snorted, and Alasdair rolled his eyes at the man.

"Aye," Alasdair agreed. "If ye mean some trouble."

"At least ye ken she cares for the bairn."

"That she does," Alasdair said as he sipped from his glass. "And the bairn cares for her more than he cares for me."

He hated the way the words sounded coming out of his mouth, full of insecurity and disgust in himself that Alasdair rarely showed to anyone else. But Alasdair struggled to hold onto his confident and cocky manner in the face of Isabella's brother. After all, Alasdair was responsible for letting this man's sister die.

"The important thing is that Ben is home," Lennox said.

Alasdair tried to change the subject, finding it too difficult to think about Ben and all the ways he seemed to be failing his child at the moment. He tried to ask Lennox about his wife and McBride Castle, but Lennox pushed the questions aside.

"I ken it's difficult," Lennox said, locking his gaze on Alasdair. "But ye must remember we did not lose everything the night Isabella died."

"Lennox," Alasdair said, hoping to stop him, but the man kept speaking.

"Nay, ye must see that Ben is Isabella's legacy. And ye must do what ye can to let that legacy thrive. He is the last of Clan McBride, ye ken. So ye owe it to me and the legacy of me faither to help that boy thrive."

Alasdair felt his muscles stiffen as he heard Lennox claim Ben for his own clan.

"Ben is Clan O'Malley," Alasdair said, struggling to keep his voice calm and controlled. They were dangerously close to a frequent fight the two men could never seem to free themselves of.

"Aye, of course," Lennox said, brushing aside the tension with a wave of his hand. "I ken he is yer heir. But ye won't begrudge me a little part of him? A little bit of him that can belong to Clan McBride?"

Lennox and his wife were unable to have children. With his father dead and no other sons or male cousins, the Milligans would not hold on to Clan McBride. It would pass to a new family, and Lennox would be the last of his line. It was an unenviable position, and Alasdair felt for the man. He couldn't begrudge Lennox for feeling so connected to Ben.

"Aye," Alasdair obliged. "He is his mother's child, after all."

He saw Lennox smile and watched the man sip his scotch, swallowing the last of it. He set his glass down hard on the table.

"I'm glad ye remember," Lennox nodded. "So, please watch him more closely this time, ay?"

Alasdair felt his whole body tense as his hands squeezed the arms of the chair. He thought he might push his fingers clear through the leather as he took in Lennox's words.

"I know what we need!" Lennox was suddenly on his feet, flipping the mood in the room in a way that made Alasdair dizzy. "A party!"

Alasdair looked up at the man, judging his sincerity. He was surprised to see Lennox was serious.

"Nay," Alasdair grunted. "I daenae throw parties."

"But this is a special occasion," Lennox reasoned. "And ye could show Ben how excited we are to have him home. A feast for Ben's homecoming."

Alasdair didn't hate the idea as much as he thought he would. The opportunity to make Ben happy was enticing to him, but there was an even more important reason bouncing around in his head. If he could gather many people beneath his roof, perhaps he could get a step closer to figuring out who kidnapped his child.

"Perhaps ye're right," Alasdair said, glancing up at Lennox. "A party might be just the thing we need."

"Good," Lennox smiled. "Tell me when it will be, and I'll be here. But for now, it's time for me to head home." He crossed to the door, leaning heavily on his cane. But when he got to the door, he turned back.

"Alasdair," he said, and Alasdair looked up to the man's brown eyes. "Promise me ye'll tell me when ye find his kidnapper. I want to be there when ye bring the man down."