Daniel spun to face her, a sneer on his handsome face.
“You forget, my dear Isabail, that a dead woman tells no tales.”
* * *
Working together, their combat styles strangely similar, Magnus and his mysterious new friend defeated the three guards handily. When the third and final man fell, Magnus was treated to a hearty thump on the back and a broad grin.
“By God, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Wiping his blade on the churned-up snow, Magnus considered his companion. Given that he’d been the one in sore need of aid, such a comment would have been better suited to his own lips, surely? His cohort was a tall man. Beardless and sporting the well-groomed hair that Magnus associated with nobles. If Isabail had not claimed Tayteath as hers, he would have guessed this man to be the lord.
So, if not the Lord of Tayteath...?
“Who are you?” he asked.
The other man’s grin fell away. “You do not know me?”
Magnus stiffened.Ah. The fellow recognizes me.That explained the camaraderie. “Nay, I do not,” he responded honestly.
“Wulf,” the other man said, “I am your cousin, Aiden MacCurran. Our fathers were brothers.”
Kin. This man waskin. A heady blend of excitement and frustration spun inside his head. But if the man was kin, why didn’t Magnus recognize him? Why did everything seem strange and unknown?
“Da!”
A slim, tousle-haired missile hit him in the gut and squeezed him tight with gangly arms.
“I knew you were alive. Iknewit,” said the lad attached to his waist as his face pressed into the folds of Magnus’s lèine. “Oh, God, Da. I’m so glad to see you.”
He stared at the boy, rooted to the spot in shock. It was too much to absorb, being a cousin and a da. How could he be a father and have no memory of it? Surely such a thing was impossible. Ought not the sound of the boy’s voice and the touch of his hand to stir something? Yet they did not. No fond memories, no sense of familiarity. Still, he did not have the heart to push the lad away, so he stood stiffly and allowed the boy to cling to him.
He shared a desperate look with the man who called himself Aiden, and thankfully, the man stepped into the breach.
“Jamie, lad. It’s good to see you safe. How did you escape de Lourdes?”
The boy pointed to the trees. “Isabail confronted him. He thinks her a ghost.”
“Isabail?” Both men spoke at once, their voices an echo of dismay.
“The wretch will kill her.” Magnus attempted a step, but with Jamie stuck to him as securely as a lamprey eel, it was hardly a smooth stride. “I must go.”
Aiden pointed to Magnus’s bleeding arm. “You’re wounded. Stay with Jamie. I’ll take care of de Lourdes.”
“She’s my responsibility,” he protested.
But even as the words left his mouth, he changed his mind. The lad had tightened his grip to a painful intensity, clearly fearful that having found his father, he was about to lose him again.
Lifting his gaze to Aiden, he nodded.
The other man disappeared into the trees, leaving him alone with Jamie. Magnus gazed down at the boy’s light brown locks and placed an awkward hand upon the lad’s head. The hair beneath his fingers was fine and soft. A child’s hair.Hischild’s hair. The tension in his gut eased.
Perhaps there was a wee spot of familiarity after all.
“Help me bind my wound,” he told the boy. “And tell me everything that’s happened since I saw you last.”
* * *
Isabail saw a shadow move among the trees behind Daniel, and a calm fell over her. She knew that shadow well—the broad shoulders and impressive height had become incredibly dear to her these past few weeks. Aiden.
