Page 39 of Katie's Highlander (Highland Protector 3)
“My what?” Ramsay distinctly felt his heart stutter a series of beats and nearly choked on the gulp of air lodged in his gullet.
The woman tucked her chin low in a coy pose, folded her hands in front of her middle, and plumped her bustline even higher with a subtle inward squeeze of her arms. “Yer son, m’chieftain,” she replied in a voice coated with saccharin sweetness.
The young man rose, moving at such a reluctant speed ’twas obvious he’d rather be disappearing into the floor. He took his place beside his mother, keeping his head bowed, and eyes averted.
The woman grabbed hold of the boy’s arm and yanked him forward. “The fruit of our tryst seventeen years ago, m’chieftain.” She smacked the boy’s shoulder and her teasing nymph of a smile twisted into an ugly scowl. “Hold yer head up, Brant. ’Tis high time yer protector blood did us some good.”
“Enough, woman!” The Ross chieftain stamped his staff on the floor and shoved his way back in front of her. “Forgive us, m’chieftain, we didna wish t’bring this shame upon ye. Clan Ross took in this ungrateful woman, ye ken? Fed her. Kept her safe from the horde. All because she claimed her child was fathered by a divine protector.” The old man cast a disgusted glance back in the woman’s direction. “She disgraces us with her behavior. Forgive me, m’chieftain, I admit this woman is nothin’ more than a connivin’ whore…but she bore the mark. Bears it still.”
The woman pushed the old man aside, nearly knocking him off balance. Defiance emanated from her every move as she widened her stance and stabbed the air with her finger, aiming it at Ramsay. “Divine blood flows through m’son’s veins—the blood of him, the mighty high chief what sired him.”
“Divine blood, my ass,” Katie murmured under her breath. She shifted in her seat and cut a look over at Ramsay, a look that tightened his arse and made him swallow hard. “You slept withher?” she asked with a subtle jerk of her head toward the woman.
Sarcasm laced with dangerously simmering rage dripped from Katie’s words, but the look in her eyes concerned him even more. What little wine he had consumed soured in his gut and churned.
This canna be true.He looked at the woman closely, trying his best t’place her. Her face seemed a mite familiar but barely so. Surely, if he’d lain with her, even as a sixteen-year-old lad, he wouldha remembered. He leaned over and took hold of Katie’s hand, spitting out the words in a strained whisper, “I dinna know that damn woman. I swear it.”
Katie jerked her hand away, gave him ago to helllook, and knotted her fists in her lap. Keeping her voice low, she proudly lifted her chin and spoke while still staring straight ahead. “She sure claims to have known you—in the biblical sense of the word.”
Hell’s fire…Ramsay straightened in the seat then addressed Clan Ross’s chieftain. “Show me the proof.” He knew the clans. They’d take in widows and orphans, ensure all were fed, but they’d ne’er accept the claim that a child had been fathered by a protector at face value alone. They would’ve expected proof and the old chief had mentioned the mark.
“Here’s yer proof!” The woman rushed forward as she yanked up her sleeve and bared her left forearm. On the inside of her wrist, in the exact same location as the protector’s mark on Katie’s right forearm was a somewhat similar tattoo. It was badly faded and broken in spots, but the mark was there. Plain for all t’see.
This canna be so.
“You marriedher?” Katie didn’t bother to whisper this time. “Are you fucking kidding me? How many wives do you have?”
The entire hall shuddered with rumbling whispers. Even the servants were buzzing at this latest turn of events. Ramsay scrubbed both hands across his face. This could no’ be happening. Not when he’d finally found where he belonged and discovered his heart’s desire in the process. He stood so quickly that his heavy chair tipped backward and hit the floor. He turned to Katie, but she refused to look at him. She sat staring straight ahead. Unblinking. Jaw clenched.
For a long gut-wrenching moment, Ramsay lost himself in the helpless feeling of total damnation in this situation. Fighting away the suffocating chaos, he bent and slid his hand to the back of Katie’s neck and kissed her. Hard and long. Not for the strange woman. Not for the clans. Not even for Katie. He kissed her for himself alone. The taste of her brought him strength. Healed him. She was a drug that he couldna live without. The strangling tension of the last few moments eased considerably when he realized that his beloved Katie had laced her fingers in his hair and was kissing him back.
Pulling back, he whispered, “Wewilltalk this out—later, aye? Swear it.”
Katie gave him the barest dip of her chin. She still wasn’t smiling but her cold, hard look of total contempt had softened considerably.
Ramsay gave her a thankful nod then straightened and faced all in the great room. Every gaze was locked on him. Watching. Waiting.
Hell’s fire and demon bollocks.He shored up his frustration as best he could, studying the preening woman standing beside her son. He strode around the table and made his way down the steps to her, trying his damnedest to peel back the layers of time and visualize how she might’ve looked seventeen years ago. Nothing came to mind but perhaps that was because time had no’ treated her well. Still, for the life of him, he couldna place her.
“Yer name?” he finally asked.
“Gerta.” She stood closer to the young man and hooked her arm through his as though she feared her proof would run away. “Yer son’s name is Brant. His name means sword—as in Scota’s sword.”
Ramsay grabbed hold of the woman’s arm and examined the mark closer. Seemed real enough. At least, at one time it had been legitimate. He turned to the boy—the young man of a little more than sixteen summers if his mother was telling the truth.
“Look at me, boy.” Ramsay stood toe to toe with the young man.
Brant finally lifted his head and looked Ramsay in the eye.
Humiliation. Shame. The wish t’be anywhere but here. Ramsay read all those things in Brant’s eyes. Slowly, Ramsay walked a circle around the lad. Brant’s body shape and size reminded him of Ross’s more muscular build and height but that theory didna hold true since Ross had been but fourteen years old when they were yanked from this century. A fourteen-year-oldcouldfather children but Ramsay clearly remembered Ross being more interested in hunting and swordplay at that age. He’d ne’er had time for the lasses then. Unfortunately, Ramsayhadfound the time for a dalliance here and there but not so many that he couldna remember the sweet lasses who’d so eagerly offered him their comforts. Grant had been besotted with the meek Leannan. That left Alec and himself.Maybe he belongs t’Alec.
Ramsay studied Brant closer. Those damned eyes. Dead giveaway. Deep set. Intense. There was a way to find out for sure. “Bring me m’spear,” he said without breaking his scrutiny of Brant. He held out his hand and waited.
The hall was silent as a graveyard except for the hurried scuffling of bootsteps. Gordon pressed the spear into his hand.
Brant’s eyes widened, and the ever-increasing ruddiness of his cheeks was a dead giveaway that he held his breath.
Gritting his teeth, Ramsay touched the tip of the spear to the boy’s forehead. His gut tightened and sent up a surge of bile as though he’d just been punched. There it was. The proof. The goddesses’ tattoo, similar to Ramsay’s but not nearly as impressive, appeared on Brant’s cheek. As soon as Ramsay took away the spear, the mark disappeared. Since the boy was no’ a protector, the mark could only be made to appear as proof of his ancestry.
