Page 43 of Highlander’s Bride

Worried everything he’d sacrificed would be ruined, he’d left his wife, warm and beautiful and trembling.

And now she’d returned, not even giving him a second glance.

“Ah, you must be tired from your journey,” she said. “Are you glad to see your father?”

Seoc just kept chewing and shrugged one shoulder. “Havena seen him for years. So…nae.”

She raised her eyebrows and threw a quick, worried glance at Raghnall, then picked up an empty bone cup and poured more of the uisge standing on the long table. Without acknowledging anyone, she threw back the contents of the cup. “Well, your father is a mystery, isn’t he?” she mumbled without looking at Raghnall, but he had the distinct feeling the words were like a dagger intended for his chest. “He might abandon people from time to time when they least expect it.”

It was like he felt the smoke and the ash on his face again.

He abandoned people…people abandoned him…his father, chasing him away, screaming at him that he was a slug not worthy of his boot, that he was an insult to kitchen waste, and that he’d be better off dead.

That was what Raghnall had been doing until he’d met Bruce and his army…trying to die.

When he’d met Mòrag he’d been a mercenary for hire. And then, just when he’d decided to be a better man and marry her…just when he’d lost her…he’d heard the Highlanders were uniting under the rule of the true Scottish king. And something within him knew that if he wanted any salvation, any chance in life, that was it.

He had to fight for the right thing. For freedom. For Seoc’s future and the future of the country he loved so dearly.

His whole life had been for this moment, so that this little human, who wasn’t even his son by blood, could sit by the fire, eat bread and meat, and be safe.

Seoc raised his head, his eyes narrowing at Bryanna. “Who are ye?”

“I’m…” She pursed her lips. “I’m Raghnall’s wife, I suppose.”

Seoc’s curiosity was replaced with a hard stare. “Ye suppose?”

She chuckled and covered Raghnall’s hand lying on the table with hers. The gesture, Raghnall knew, was just to convince Seoc of the truthfulness of what she said, but despite himself, it meant more for him than she’d ever know… It spread warmth and tingles and made him feel lighter, like the sunlight within her spread to his every cell.

“I am his wife,” she said, the tremble in her voice short. “It’s new, so I’m not yet used to it… And I didn’t know he had you.”

Seoc shrugged. Good Lord, how did the lad manage to look like he was a sixty-five-year-old man in the skin of a ten-year-old?

“He didna have me. My mother did.”

Bryanna’s throat moved as she swallowed, and she looked at him. “Right. Your mother. Who was she, anyway?”

“Her name was Mòrag,” said Seoc proudly before Raghnall could add anything. “I was a wee lad when she died. I’m nae a wee lad nae more, mistress.”

“Who’s the lad?” boomed a voice somewhere by the entrance. Angus.

Raghnall’s shoulders tightened as he realized he should have told his family about Seoc. He should have opened up about such an important part of his life…

But Seoc wasn’t his son, not even his stepson.

So how could he have trusted Angus to recognize the lad Raghnall was determined to make his heir?

He had to lie.

Raghnall stood up, and so did Iòna—ever loyal, ever kind Iòna—but Raghnall stopped him with a gesture of his hand.

“’Tis my son and my heir,” said Raghnall. “He came to live with me and is part of the clan now.”

Angus’s dark eyes lay on Seoc who had a tiny expression of surprise and, just as Raghnall had feared, distrust.

Angus narrowed his eyes on Raghnall. “Whether he will be part of the clan or nae remains to be seen. Why havena ye ever said a word about yer son? All these years we fought for the Bruce together…and ye returned to Eilean Donan months ago.”

Why hadn’t he said anything? Because even the thought of talking about Mòrag and his own cowardice that led to her death made him want to take a dagger and cut his own chest open. That would be less painful.