‘That I didn’t care for you? How could I not? You’re my son.’
Locking his knees, Rory wanted to sit now and damn the chairs if they didn’t fit him.
‘I called you my son the moment I saw you. When I gazed at my wife’s adoring face as she held you, I claimed you. I was fiercely proud of you then and am even more so now.’
His father’s words brought more questions to Rory’s mind, but he did hold one absolute certainty. ‘I’m proud to be your son.’
Chapter Twenty
‘It’s dark in here,’ Ailsa’s voice drifted around the cold stones. ‘How did you find your way down the stairs without breaking your leg?’
‘I lit a torch,’ Rory answered.
‘I can see that, but it’s hardly enough to read by if that’s what you’re intending to do in the crypt in the middle of the night.’ She turned the corner and he could see her. Her arms crossed over her body against the cool night air. ‘Ah, you’re not reading. No journals, just a flagon of ale.’
Rory slid over on the bench. ‘With no goblet because I couldn’t drink any more. But my father insisted on celebrating, so I couldn’t leave the room without it in my hand.’
Carefully, she sat next to him. ‘Celebrating?’
Ailsa was dressed in a simple gown with loose laces and plain slippers on her feet. But nothingwas plain or simple about her red hair which was unbound and waving about her shoulders and down her back. Aside from the ceremonial brooch she’d pinned on her gown, she looked ready for bed and utterly beautiful. Especially when she curled her feet under her as she sat.
‘Would you believe, as large as I am, my father can drink more than me? So he celebrated, while I became unsteady on my feet. How did you know I’d be here?’
‘You didn’t come to bed and the Hall is still full.’ She played with the blanket that was on the bench. ‘I thought you may have wanted quiet again. But it’s an odd place...being in a crypt.’
He had no defence to that.
‘Why didn’t you come to bed?’ she asked.
‘I thought maybe to read the journals, but they had been put away and I didn’t want to disturb anyone this late at night.’
‘Then you stayed?’
He nodded.
‘Because you’re angry with me?’
Rory grabbed a corner of the blanket and pulled it over them. ‘I feel many things, but anger isn’t one of them. Neither is blame, accusations nor betrayal.’
‘You—you stormed out of here when I tried to talk to you.’ She seemed surprised by the blanket,so he tucked it under her legs, the movements bringing them closer, his body already responding despite the location, his exhaustion and conflicting thoughts. He knew it would always be thus with his wife, and he looked forward to it.
‘Since then I walked around until we ate. Did you not see the mud on my shoes?’
‘I see the mud on them now, as well as the splatters up your breeches.’
He looked like a beggar next to his wife. ‘I should have taken care with my appearance. You are very beautiful tonight.’
She shifted against him as if his compliment affected her. ‘A significant walk, then. I informed you your entire existence is a lie and that I’ve known it from the beginning and now you’re sharing a blanket.’
‘It was quite a walk. There was even an unexpected rut or two I stepped into which put all matters into perspective.’ He adjusted his arm so she could rest her head more comfortably. ‘I wasn’t angry that you told me. I was angry that my father was—is—Hamish. You need to know I already suspected I wasn’t Finley’s child. After all, I’m much larger than Finley and there was always a matter of...aloofness with my parents.I never felt as though I was a Lochmore. I knew this when I married you.’
Ailsa didn’t want to be right that Rory had spent his childhood alone. How could a child ever feel as though he didn’t belong? ‘Did you think I’d be angry that you didn’t tell me?’
‘You have every right to be. This matter is grave. I am McCrieff’s child. An illegitimate baby, but all the same his only issue. What’s more, I wished Hamish dead. For what he did to Paiden, for what he tried to do to the rest of my clan, toyou. If he wasn’t on his deathbed, I would demand an honour match with my own father. What kind of child wants to kill his own father?’
Ailsa couldn’t bear the pain in his voice. ‘Don’t. Don’t torture yourself. Hamish is not a man anyone could tolerate. He was a harsh ruler and the older he became the more punishing his edicts. My father and myself were often his favourites to exact some petty revenge upon. If I hadn’t wanted to preserve life or my soul...’
‘And this man’s my father.’
