Page 86 of A Highland Rogue to Ruin

“Owen!”

Tormund whipped around and scooped up the lad, felt his wee arms cling to his neck and legs wrap about his waist like a tree. But smoke from above was seeping through the cracks, rolling along the seams of the floor planks overhead. He set Owen down and ripped free his mantle, stabbing it with his knife and slicing it down the middle, when Owen clung to his leg.

He tried to shake him loose. Tried to give them each a cut of wool to put over their faces. They had only precious few moments to escape, but as he tried to pry the lad’s arms away again, he clung only harder, burying his face into Tormund’s kilt.

“Da, I’m-I’m scared,” he hiccupped.

Something else above them crackled, and tiny embers dusted down like fiery snow around them, but Tormund squatted, squaring the child away from him and taking his wee chin on his finger, as Brighde wrapped an arm around him and his grubby fingers came up to hold her arm trustingly.

“I’m here, Owey. And ye’re going to be all right.” Hell, he didn’t know if they truly would. “But do ye remember how I told ye of yer blood parents?”

He felt Brighde’s gaze rest on him. An ember sizzled into the water barrel, reminding him they were out of time. But he needed the lad to relax so he would cooperate.

“Of how ye’re my uncle and adopted me when they died?”

Tormund nodded. Palmed his tousled sable hair. “Yer da was a brave warrior. The strongest I knew.”

“Stronger than ye?” he asked in awe.

He heard Brighde’s soft laugh, thickened with emotion.

Tormund nodded once. “Aye. Stronger than I ever was.” His eyes lifted to Brighde’s bonny blues. They were watering, but on her face, she wore that smile. “He knew what he wanted, and was never afeared of taking it.” Her eyes searched his. “He knew how to fight for those he loved, whereas I am only just learning.”

He took her hand in his other, looked back to his son. “His fighting blood is in ye. As is yer mither’s. She was a MacDonald. And they are fierce indeed.” His eyes connected to Brighde’s again. “As is Lady Brighde. Yer blood aunt. Yer mither’s sister.”

Owen looked up at her again in question, smiling with surprise, noting his and Brighde’s handhold, how their fingers had laced together despite his knuckles bloodied from her fight. He’d wear the scars proudly. “The bonny Tafl lady is the one Reverend Faither said ye wanted to court.”

He nodded, smiling softly. “A MacDonald. Yer kin. And fierce as they were, it nay means yer parents were never afraid. Losing ye was their biggest fear.”

“But ye protected me.”

“That I did. As she has now.”

Brighde wore that strained smile as she squeezed Tormund’s grip reassuringly.

She reached round her neck and drew up two necklaces. His brother’s talon. Her sister’s locket. Then she draped them over the lad’s neck, as shouting increased outside. As more crackling shimmied the trusses above them and an ember stung his arm, haze having filled the room like a slow rolling fog.

“I have only just discovered ye, Master Owen. But I see so much of yer mither in ye, and yer sire. They would be proud to see ye now. Look. This belonged to yer sire.” She held up the talon on the string. Owen inspected it. His eyes darted up to match it to the one piercing Tormund’s ear. “And this was yer mither,” she continued, opening the silver pendant.

Owen took it and gazed down at it. Traced a finger on it, smiling. “She was bonny.”

Brighde laughed softly through her obvious emotion. “That she was. The bonniest, kindest lady, who loved ye so, for she put the sparkle of heaven in yer handsome eyes. I canna wait to tell ye more about her,” she whispered, petting his cheek lovingly.

“Should I handfast her, Owey?” Tormund asked, jutting his chin toward Brighde, drawing back the lad’s attention. Though it wasn’t a question. “Shall I give ye a mither and take ye both home?”

Owen grinned and nodded.

“Good laddie. Then show me whose blood ye have in yer veins. Stand tall. Be brave like yer namesake.”

Owen nodded resolutely, like a soldier ready for orders.

Thank hell. Tormund shoved to standing and sloshed the wool scraps in the water drum, handing a strip to each of them.

“Cover yer faces,” he ordered.

He hoisted the lad up once more to help him wrap it over his nose and mouth.

Brighde’s eyes widened at him as she did the same. He cupped her cheek, and then he scooped her up, too.