The lad scrambled up into the coach, his nursemaid following.
"Oh, a good morn to you, sir," the middle-aged servant said and took a seat on the opposite padded bench.
"Good morn."Rebbie'sgaze strayed to Calla's son and his dark brown eyes.God's blood!He felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach.'Twaslike looking at one of the many paintings his father had commissioned when Rebbie had been that age. "What the…"Blazing hell,he'd almost said aloud. The lad watched him with wide, curious eyes so like his own.
Damnation! The lad looked exactly like him.
Was Jamie his son? Had Calla been keeping the truth from him the entire time?
Rebbie sucked in a deep breath. "Jamie?"
He nodded. "Who're you?" he asked in a high-pitched child's voice.
"I'm Rebbie. A friend of your mum's."
The lad frowned, as if trying to figure that out. Rebbie was doing the same. Surely she hadn't done what he thought she had. But the longer he observed the lad, the more his stomach knotted. Why the devil hadn't she told him?
"How old are you, lad?"
"Six summers. My birthday was the third."
'Slud. He'd thought he and Calla had been together five years ago, but it must have been closer to seven. Or was Rebbie imagining things? Maybe the lad wasn't his. What the hell? Was he going mad?
"How old areyou?" Jamie asked.
Despite the anger simmering in his blood at Calla, not to mention the confusion, Rebbie forced a pleasant expression onto his face. "Twenty-eight summers."
"That's old."
"Aye." Rebbie couldn't stop himself from smiling. Damnation, but the lad was endearing.
"But not as old as myda," Jamie said.
Instantly sobering, Rebbie nodded.
"But he's not here. Ma said he went to Heaven."
"I was sorry to hear about that. Do you miss him?"
The lad nodded, faint tears glistening in his eyes. Hell, Rebbie hoped he didn't cry, for he couldn't take it. The lad near broke his heart already, and he'd only known him for a couple of minutes.
"I ken that had to be hard for you."
Jamie nodded and glanced down at the carved dog in his hand. "He brought me this the last time I saw him."
"'Tisvery nice. Is that a deerhound?"
"Aye. His name is Robert."
Rebbie snorted with unexpected laughter, but tried to hold it in. Good Lord.
The lad frowned at him, looking a bit insulted and hurt.
"That's one of my names—Robert. That's why I thought 'twas funny."
"Oh." A wee smile peeked through the tears drying at the corners of his eyes. "I didn't know I named my dog after you."
"Aye, well, you're a bright and canny lad."
