Chapter Fifteen

The inner bailey teemed with clansmen. Sorcha's palms were sweating, and her stomach turned with nervousness. She'd never seen so many people gathered in one place in her life, and they parted automatically as Alasdair led his horse into the courtyard. His clansmen smiled as they rode by them, calling greetings and news, and inquiring if she was his new wife. That part stiffened Alasdair's body around her and heated her cheeks, but she decided to ignore the good-natured ribbing.

"Are they always like this?" she asked, turning her head sideways so no one could read her lips.

"Aye," he said with a chuckle, "and I'm sorry about the wife comments. They ken better, but—"

"They wish ye to remarry," she supplied.

"Aye," he answered, the surprise in his voice obvious.

He started to slow the horse toward the middle of the courtyard, and as he did, Sorcha noticed a beautiful woman with flaxen hair walking toward them. Two children, a boy and a girl, flanked her. The boy had black hair and blue eyes that matched Alasdair's, and Sorcha knew at once that the young lad had to be his son. The girl had red hair, much to Sorcha's surprise, the color of hers, but her eyes were a bright shade of green. "Those are yer children," she said.

"Aye," he replied, and she could hear the pride in his voice. "The woman with them is my wife's mama, Esmerelda."

"Her mama?" Sorcha gasped. "She barely looks older than I am."

"She's forty-five summers," Alasdair said, "And I imagine that's quite a bit older than ye."

It was, but still, the woman looked half her age. "She's blessed by the gods," Sorcha mumbled, tugging on her soiled gown. She suddenly felt very inferior to the stunning woman who was almost upon them. Esmerelda's gown was made of the finest silk, her fair hair looked like spun gold, and her skin like alabaster. The only thing Sorcha thought detracted from the woman's beauty were her eyes. They were bits of gray stone, hard and cold. The woman smiled at Alasdair as he dismounted, but when he helped Sorcha dismount and swept his hand toward her to introduce them, Esmerelda did not smile.

She swept a disdainful gaze over Sorcha and visibly pulled the children closer to her. "Who is this?" she demanded.

"Esmerelda, this is Sorcha MacGregor," Alasdair said, his gaze resting on her. He quirked his eyebrows up as if to ask if that were the name she wanted to use. She gave her head a little nod. It was. She was not ready to be known as Margaret Stewart, and she wasn't sure she ever would be, though she might not have the luxury of that choice for much longer. Alasdair had been very kind and accommodating by granting her wish, but her brother might not be so understanding. "This is Esmerelda," he finished.

"Pleased to meet ye," Sorcha said, curtsying.

The woman ignored her. "Who is she, and why is she here?"

"I'll explain when we are alone," Alasdair answered, to which the woman frowned. Out of the corner of her eye, Sorcha could see Alasdair scowling. She couldn't help but feel pleased that Alasdair didn't care for the way the woman was acting. Sorcha didn't care for the woman at all. Not only was she rude, but she was gripping the children's hands so hard that her knuckles were white and the children were squirming.

Sorcha turned her focus to the children. She was not surprised that they had not raced to greet their father, given the tight control their grandmother seemed to keep upon them, but Sorcha was surprised he'd not called them over to him to give them a hug. She stole a glance at him and blinked at the unexpected look on his face. It was a mixture of longing and discomfort.

"Papa," his daughter, Beatie, said, "we missed ye! Can we come hug ye?"

Sorcha frowned that the child would even feel the need to ask such a question. Had she misjudged the sort of man Alasdair actually was? Was he coldhearted to his children and withholding of his affections, as the man she'd called her da had been? The idea of it so incensed her for his children, that she blurted, "Of course ye can hug yer da."

"They kinnae!" Esmerelda snapped, her cold eyes lighting with a warning look. "Their hands are grimy, and Alasdair dunnae want their sticky fingers upon him."

A hush fell around them from the clan where a moment ago there had been a steady hum of pleasant conversation.

Sorcha knew everyone gathered was now watching and listening, but when she saw the reaction of his children, she could not summon the will to care. Beatie's shoulders drooped and Hew's lip began to tremble. Sorcha opened her mouth to blast the woman on behalf of the children, but Alasdair spoke.

"Of course, ye may come hug me," he said, kneeling. "And ye dunnae ever need to ask again," he added, holding his arms wide for both of his children and motioning them forth. Hew and Beatie launched themselves into his arms, and he encircled them and brought them close.

Sorcha watched the touching scene play out before her, but she could feel hard pricks of an icy gaze upon her. She turned her head and met the stormy disapproving stare of Alasdair's mother-in-law. She was saved from having to make polite conversation because, at that moment, Alasdair said, "I will always welcome an embrace from my children, Esmerelda."

The woman snorted in response, and Alasdair visibly tensed as he stood. Grinning from ear to ear, Hew and Beatie each grabbed one of his hands, and the sight warmed Sorcha through. It occurred to her that she had not been formally introduced to the children, and she could see the curiosity in their gazes. She bent down and smiled. "I'm Sorcha."

"I'm Beatie," Beatie responded with a shy smile.

"I'm Hew!" the lad piped up. "We were born at the same time," he added with the sort of contagious enthusiasm only children could possess.

"So I've heard," she said with a laugh as she straightened.

"Are ye to be our new mama?" Hew asked.

"Hew!" Beatie and Alasdair chided at the same moment.

"Of course she's nae to be yer new mama!" Esmerelda snapped in such a loud tone that a hush fell over the courtyard once more. "She's nae a proper lady, by the looks of her," the woman added.

Sorcha's face heated at the slight, given that it was true.

"That will be enough from ye, Esmerelda," Alasdair snapped. "Sorcha is a proper lady and the betrothed of Laird Campbell."

"Oh, aye!" Esmerelda said, her countenance changing immediately. She was all smiles, and a suspicion blossomed in Sorcha's mind. "Why did ye nae say so right away?" she demanded of Alasdair.

Sorcha's jaw slipped open at the look on Esmerelda's face as she gazed at Alasdair. Possession . If Sorcha had any coin to wager, she'd say Esmerelda was part of the reason Alasdair was uncomfortable with his own children.

"Please take Sorcha with ye and find her some gowns to wear."

"What of the children?" Esmerelda said.

When Alasdair looked as if he might reconsider, Sorcha said, "I'm certain Alasdair can figure out what to do with his own children."

Esmerelda looked appalled at the notion. "He's far too busy with clan affairs to attend to his children. That's what I'm here for, as my dear sweet Mariot would have been."

Alasdair opened his mouth as if he might protest, but then he promptly shut it and glanced down at his children, who both looked dejected that they'd just been robbed of time with their father. Sorcha felt disappointed for them. Esmerelda was a brilliant manipulator. Sorcha only hoped she could somehow figure out how to show Alasdair that his guilt was being used against him to keep him distanced from his children so he'd feel he needed his mother-in-law.

"Children, go with Esmerelda," Alasdair said in a quiet voice.

"But, Papa!" both children exclaimed as one.

"We want to stay with ye," Beatie cried out.

"I want to learn to fight," Hew added, pushing out his lower lip.

Alasdair laughed at that, and Sorcha saw an opening. "Why do ye nae take Hew with ye and Beatie can come with us? I could use help learning how to look like a proper lady."

Alasdair nodded at that, took up Sorcha's hand, to her surprise, and kissed the top of it. "A gown dunnae make a lady," Alasdair said in a such a quiet tone that Sorcha was certain no one could hear but her.

"What then?" she asked as their gazes clashed.

"A good heart. And that, Sorcha, ye have in abundance."

"I am sorry for my behavior," Esmerelda said when they reached her bedchamber. "'Tis just that, well—" The woman's eyes filled with tears, and she dashed them away, but they came faster than she could wipe them away. Sorcha stood speechless, unsure what to do. "Mariot was my only daughter, and, and if he weds again, I f-f-fear he will forget her."

Regret swept over Sorcha that she had judged Esmerelda so harshly. "I am so sorry," she said, intending to pat the woman on the hand, but Esmerelda gripped her hand as she sniffled so Sorcha felt compelled to say more. "From what I've heard Alasdair say of yer daughter, he'll nae ever forget her or replace her." She thought her words would please Esmerelda, given what the woman had just admitted, but instead Alasdair's mother-in-law looked irritated by Sorcha's words.

"Well," she finally said, releasing Sorcha's hand and drying her tears, "we shall see. Beatie, bring Sorcha a gown from the special trunk."

Beatie's eyes went wide. "Really, Grandmama!" the lass exclaimed with excitement.

"Aye," she said in a sweet tone that was more like the one Sorcha had always imagined a grandmother would use to speak to her granddaughter. "Sorcha is an honored guest, and as such, she deserves the finest gowns we have to offer."

The little girl went over to the trunk, opened it, and pulled out a gown of silvery blue. "Is this one special, Grandmama?"

"Oh aye," the woman replied, smiling almost gleefully. "It is indeed. Go on behind the dressing screen and try it on. 'Tis nae ever been worn."

"I kinnae take such a fine gown!"

"Ye must," the woman insisted, sweeping her gaze over her. "Ye're in rags."

Sorcha touched her soiled, torn gown. "This is my best gown."

"All the more reason ye should take this one."

"Ye're certain?" Sorcha asked as the woman handed her the gown. "I can borrow another, one that has already been worn? Mayhap one that is nae so fine?"

"Ye must let me do this for ye for telling me that Alasdair will nae ever replace my Mariot or forget her."

An odd thread in the woman's voice unsettled Sorcha, but given that she'd already jumped to conclusions about Esmerelda, and the eagerness with which Beatie was looking at her, Sorcha took the gown, went behind the dressing screen, and tried it on. She slipped the dress over her head, and it slid down her body, cool and smooth. She ran her hands along the fine silk, and she began to tremble.

She had nae ever cared what a man might think of her, but as she stood there, she could not help but wonder if Alasdair would find her fetching in the gown, and it made her feel vulnerable. It was dangerous, surely, to have such a thought regarding a man. Nothing could break your heart quite the way caring what someone thought of you could.

Her thoughts drifted a moment to the man she'd known as her father. She'd tried for years to get him to love her, and every time he had rejected her. Her resolve not to care had hardened a bit more. Had she become so hard that she was guarded still? She feared she might be after she'd initially misjudged Alasdair, and how she was so unwilling to go to her brother.

She resolved to try to lower her guard a bit each day. She'd start now with Esmerelda and take her offering at face value—as a way of saying she was sorry. And she'd try her hardest not to worry that she was a fool for doing so.