The Striker (46 page)

“She must have been a big lass,” Eachann said, clearly not sure whether to believe him.

MacSorley laughed. “I'm afraid not. She's about Peter's size.” He pointed to the youth, who was only a few inches over five feet and probably seven stone soaking wet.

“Now I know you're jesting,” Eachann said.

“Her name is Cate and she's betrothed to a friend of mine.” He paused. “At least they were betrothed until . . .” He waved it off. “No matter. She also happens to be the king's daughter.”

“But the king's daughter is in an English convent,” Eachann said.

“I think he means the king's natural daughter,” Margaret said.

“You mean she's a bastard?” Eachann asked.

Eoin's mouth tightened. He didn't need to turn to feel the boy's gaze land on his back. Damn Dugald MacDowell to Hades!

“Eachann . . .” Margaret started.

But MacSorley only laughed. “Aye, I suppose she is. But I wouldn't call her that if I were you, or she might put you on
your
backside.”

Eoin had heard about how Gregor MacGregor's intended had been trained in warfare and had managed to flip the big, always-ready-with-a-jest Viking while practicing. The other Guardsmen had been needling MacSorley about it ever since. Eoin would have given a month's wages to have seen it.

Tired of watching from afar while Hawk entertained his son, Eoin moved off the oars. He was going to see if Eachann wanted to help him with the navigation, when he heard MacSorley ask, “Would you like to hold the ropes for a while?”

“Me? Really? You mean it?”

Eoin quickly sat back down at the excitement in his son's voice. Rough maps of the shoreline and a sun compass could hardly compete with holding the riggings.

He didn't realize he was frowning until Margaret sat down beside him. “Your friend is amusing. He reminds me of someone, although I can't think who.”

Eoin hid a smile, wondering how long it would take her to figure out it was herself.

She lowered her voice. “Eachann is scared. He isn't deliberately trying to hurt you. He just doesn't know what to say. Your friend MacSorley is easier—there is nothing at stake with him.”

Christ. Was he that easy to read? He didn't bother denying it. “I tried talking to him this morning before we left, but he couldn't seem to get away quickly enough.”

“What did you talk about?”

He shrugged. “Nothing in particular. I asked if he had a favorite weapon he liked to practice with and mentioned that I was looking forward to his training when we arrived at Kerrera.”

She didn't say anything.

“Did I say something wrong?”

She bit her lip as if debating something. After a minute, she reached a decision. Her gaze held a hint of challenge when she said, “I don't think Eachann is very interested in warfare.”

Her words took him aback. “I thought every little boy was interested in warfare.” He hadn't thought of anything else.

Her mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “Not Eachann.”

He sensed a slight defensiveness and guessed that like the boy's size, the subject was a sensitive one. It wasn't difficult to figure out why. Dugald MacDowell only raised warriors. But frankly, given that was all Eoin thought about—at least until he'd met Margaret—he'd assumed he would as well.

He thought for a moment. “What is he interested in?”

“Books. He reads everything he can get his hands on. He likes to build things.” She gestured toward the compass. “He'd probably be interested in that. He likes to know how things work.”

The beginnings of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth. Perhaps his son was like him in other ways. “The lad is clever?”

Her mouth twitched. “You could say that. He's already beating me at chess.”

“Well, that's not exactly saying much.”

“Eoin!” she shoved his shoulder. “That isn't very nice.”

He laughed. “Maybe not, but it's true. Patience has never been your forte, but you do have other . . . uh, talents.”

The meaningful look he gave her sent a blush roaring up her cheeks, but she drew up primly. “Aye, well you've never been very patient either when it comes to certain things.”

He laughed again. She was right. He still wasn't patient when it came to her. They had six years of catching up to do, and he couldn't wait to get her back to Kerrera to start.

Their laughter had caught the attention of their son. As soon as Eoin's gaze met his, the little boy turned away. Eoin sighed, realizing he was going to need
quite
a bit of patience when it came to his son.

Margaret was sad to have to say goodbye to the strapping seafarer. It wasn't just that she liked Erik MacSorley—which she did (she hadn't laughed like that in years)—it also meant that they'd arrived at their destination.

As the flat, green hillsides and dark, rocky seashores of the Isle of Kerrera came into view, she had to admit she'd felt more than one pang of apprehension and doubt. But any worries that she was doing the right thing had faded when she remembered seeing those two dark-blond heads bent together for the first time. Her throat still grew tight just thinking about it.

As they'd left the small island off the shore of Ireland where they'd spent the night, Eoin had taken her advice and asked Eachann if he wanted to learn how to navigate the ship. Though hesitant, their too curious son had been unable to resist the temptation of the flat piece of wood with curved marks drawn from the sun's shadow on a vertical pointer. He'd asked dozens of questions, which Margaret quickly lost interest in, but which Eoin didn't seem to mind. She had to admit it was nice to have someone else to answer Eachann's never-ending questions, with increasing focus on the minutest details, that sometimes taxed Margaret's motherly patience.

She could almost see the boy's mind working as he tried to figure out a way to improve the accuracy of the crude instrument. Eachann liked to build things. Not forts and castles out of mud and sticks like the other boys, but useful things. Things that made tasks easier for people. She'd never forget when he read about the great horologe at Canterbury Cathedral that sounded the time with bells. It used weights rather than water, and before her failed wedding the boy had been experimenting with building his own
cloc
, the Gaelic word for bell. He'd been so excited, he'd talked nonstop about it for days.

He was that way now. The difference this time was that he had an equally intrigued audience. Her mouth twisted with a smile. Maybe not an audience but an enthusiastic cohort.

Eoin had been surprised to hear that his son didn't seem to have much interest in being a warrior, but he'd recovered faster than she expected. Surprisingly, he didn't seem disappointed. Actually, as the conversation intensified, Eoin's pride in the boy became readily apparent.

She was doing the right thing. Her son needed this. A father who was proud of him—who understood him—no matter what he chose to do was worth any risk to her heart.

Buoyed by the first signs of softening in her son's attitude toward his father, Margaret bid farewell to the handsome seafarer with the devilish grin, who was eager to return to his wife and children, and held Eachann's hand tightly as they followed Eoin up the sea-gate stairs to the square stone keep of Gylen Castle, which sat perched on the cliff overlooking the sea. She needed all of that encouragement as she gazed up and saw the couple waiting to greet them. Her heartbeat quickened, and a familiar dread draped over her like a soggy plaid, the uncomfortable weight of it dragging her down.

Margaret knew Eoin had sent a missive to his parents, apprising them of Eachann's existence, but there hadn't been time to inform them of their arrival. She harbored no illusions on her own account—Eoin's parents were hardly likely to welcome her with open arms—but for Eachann's sake, she hoped they would hide their disdain.

The thought that her son might think less of her was something she couldn't bear.

Eoin was a few steps ahead of them, presumably to give his parents a quick warning, but it proved unnecessary. Lady Rignach's gaze seemed to find hers instantly. Beneath the surprise, Margaret would have sworn she saw what looked like relief before the other woman's eyes shifted down to the side. Her face lost every trace of color, and she might have slid to the ground had her husband not caught her by the arm.

The proud chief looked almost as shaken when he realized why his wife had almost swooned.

Eachann was not a timid boy, but when the two imposing figures stared at him as if he were a strange creature from a menagerie, he drew in tight against her.

Lady Rignach's fingers went to her lips. The dark eyes that turned back to Eoin were shimmering with tears. “My God, he looks just like you. I'd feared . . .”

Her voice dropped off.

Margaret stiffened, realizing what she'd feared: that the boy wasn't his.

But a few moments later, she wondered if she'd been mistaken. The gaze that met hers now wasn't filled with derision or animosity but with gratitude. “Thank you for bringing him here. After what happened, I feared nothing could make you come back.”

Margaret would have thought Lady Rignach would consider that a good thing, if she hadn't been looking at her with such obvious relief.

Feeling as if she'd just stepped into some kind of faerie hole, Margaret didn't know what to say. But with her hand losing feeling from being squeezed so tight and the small body pressing against her side in danger of giving her bruises, she shook off the disquiet. “Eachann.” She drew the boy forward. “These are your grandparents, Lady Rignach and Laird Gillemore, Chief of MacLean.”

Eachann, looking very serious, gave them a short, formal bow, murmuring that he was glad to meet them.

Lady Rignach looked at the boy with such longing Margaret thought she might try to pull him into her arms.

Apparently, Eoin thought so as well. To save the boy from being more overwhelmed than he already was, Eoin stepped in front of him. “Should we go inside? It has been a long journey, and we are all tired.”

“Of course,” the laird said. “Your mother will have some rooms prepared.”

“Room,” Eoin said firmly. “My wife and I will share my chamber, and my son will sleep in the antechamber.” If there was any doubt about her place, there wasn't any longer. Even Margaret was surprised by the leave-no-room-for-objection tone.

She quirked a brow, but his only reply was a forbidding frown, which she assumed was his way of telling her to behave.

Trying not to laugh, she followed Eoin and his parents into the Great Hall. Not much had changed in the years since she'd been here last. The room could have rivaled one at any royal palace. Fine tapestries hung on the freshly limed walls, colorful cloths covered the rows of trestle tables, and the table on the raised dais was adorned with heavily embossed silver candelabrum and other rich plate.

As it was late afternoon and the midday meal had already been completed, the Hall was relatively quiet. They hadn't been expected, so a feast had not been prepared, but Lady Rignach promised that would be rectified on the morrow. The clansmen would be eager to meet the laird's grandson. His
first
grandchild, Margaret realized. Apparently, Marjory had yet to have a child. Sensing the subject was a painful one, she did not ask any more questions.

From the little Eoin had told her about his sister and foster brother, Fin had made his peace with Bruce and was now serving as the laird's henchman. He and Marjory would live in a new tower being added to the castle, but for now were residing in a house in the village.

Margaret admitted she'd wanted to turn back when Eoin had told her of his presence on the isle that first night of their journey, but pride had prevented her. She would not let Fin drive her away. She might not be as convinced as Eoin that Fin had changed, but she was willing to try to put the past in the past.

Though she was just grateful not to have to do so right now. There were only a few clansmen gathered in the Hall, and Fin was not among them.

Without thinking, Margaret almost took a seat at the table just below the
hie burde
—the high table—where she'd so often sat with Tilda (who had married and moved away a few years ago). But Eoin drew her forward to the place where his mother was waiting at the dais. She sat between Eoin and Eachann as they took their seats on the end of the long bench. Lady Rignach looked like she was contemplating squeezing in beside them, but the laird steered her to the middle of the table.

Eoin and his father filled most of the conversation, as they enjoyed a light meal of roasted fowl and mutton, cheese, and bread. Eachann was very subdued, although he did revive a bit when a few pies and cakes were brought out for him to sample.

Margaret was laughing to herself as she noticed how he and Eoin chose the exact same plum pie and spiced cake, when she looked up and caught her mother-in-law's teary but also amused gaze. Clearly, she'd noticed it as well, and for the first time the two women who couldn't have been more different shared a moment of understanding.