Page 45 of A Stranger’s Promise

Chapter Eleven

You’re my uncle.

Alistair sighed. So, the lad knew the truth. “Who told you I wasn’t your father?” he asked softly. “How long have you known?”

Oliver’s lips trembled and tears streaked his grimy cheeks. “My mum. She always told me my da’s name was Charles. When she…” He blanched. “He left us at Lady Prescott’s door, told us you’d come and that you were a good man, unlike himself. Said you’d see us raised good and proper…” The sobs racked his thin shoulders.

Alistair gathered him closer. So, the boy had known from the start. It explained the sullen challenges and the refusal to participate. It even answered why he’d crept into Charles’s bedchamber. What of Charles? At least he’d seen his children to Lady Prescott’s door before running off who-knew-where.

“It’s no matter, lad.” Alistair patted his nephew’s shoulder. “Fathers are the men who rear you.” It had been that way for him, anyway, with Foster.

Oliver wiggled out of his grasp. “Why didn’t you deny us?” he asked.

He met the boy’s gaze steadily. “I know how dangerous it is to live without roots. I may not have fathered you, Oliver, but I’ll be a father to you now. I swear it.”

To his surprise, the lad vehemently shook his head. “Father,” he spat, looking angry at the mere word. “Nae. I would rather call you Uncle.”

“Aye, then.” Alistair clamped his hand on the lad’s shoulder. “It does no’ matter what name I am called. You are home. Where you belong. You’re a Cassilis, of my own blood, and a member of the clan, and that’s all there’s to say on the matter.”

At the thud of approaching hooves, they looked up as men emerged from the trees. Another loud crash sounded inside the ice house.

“Damnation,” Alistair cursed. More smoke billowed from the icehouse door. More brandy kegs must have caught fire.

Alistair released Oliver and rose. “There’s little worth saving, lads,” he informed the men.

After completion of the new icehouse the previous year, he’d used the old one to store empty brandy kegs and wine barrels. There was nothing left of them now. And since the icehouse was made of stone, once the fire died, there would be no real harm. He didn’t believe the fire could jump from within the cavern, but Alistair instructed his men to stand guard until they were certain the fire had died. He then returned his attention to Oliver, who now stood alongside Charlotte. The lad pulled a felt green hat with a broken red feather from inside his shirt.

“I came here to fetch you this, sir.” He extended the hat toward him. “You said you wanted the man.”

Alistair accepted the hat. “You have seen this man before?”

Oliver nodded earnestly. “He comes here often.”

Alistair turned the hat over in his hands. Strange. “Do you know his name? Where he’s from?”

The boy shook his head.

“How did the fire start?” Alistair probed.

Oliver dropped his gaze. So, this question made him uncomfortable.

“You were inside the icehouse, I take it?”

Oliver nodded and Alistair’s chest tightened. If the boy had been trapped inside… He shook off the thought. You could have been harmed,” Alistair said in a stern voice. “You are to stay in the castle proper and not wander about the estate. If you have a matter of concern, you will speak with me first before taking matters into your own hands. Do you understand?”

Oliver nodded.

“Come, let’s return to the castle,” Alistair said.

Charlotte looked pale, and he read the remnants of fear in her eyes. A sudden gust of wind tugged at her loose, errant curls. He wanted to hold her close, tell her all would be well, but he could do nothing now but wait.

Her eyes dropped to his arm. “You’re injured. You need treatment, my lord.”

He hardly noticed the pain. He enjoyed the softness in her eyes so much more. “After a bit of ointment, all will be well,” he said.

After retrieving his horse, they set off for Culzean again, a somewhat bedraggled party covered in grime and walking in silence. Alistair carried the hat. Who was the man, and what was he doing in the ice house? Alistair glance at Oliver. How had the boy known the hat was there to begin with?

The pain of Alistair’s burn grew with each step, but for a time, he distracted himself tolerably well with Charlotte’s slender, winsome form and the memory of her kiss. Her lips had tasted so sweet, so pure. He could only think of devouring them again—and more besides.