Page 60 of Highland Storm

“My new friend, Miles,” said Hawke. “And after that, he will pass it on to another child and that will continue every day.”

“Who are they?” asked one of the little girls, pointing at Phoebe’s sisters.

“These are some of my friends. Miles, and his sisters, Elspeth and Agan. And Phoebe,” he said, extending an open arm toward Phoebe as she climbed out of the wagon.

“They dinna belong to our clan. Look at their red plaids,” said Finlay.

“That’s right,” said Hawke.

“Which clan are they?” asked a little girl.

“We’re the MacNabs,” said Miles before Hawke could stop him.

“The MacNabs are our enemies! My da told me so.” Finlay crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well, mayhap some of them are, but I assure ye that these four are our friends,” Hawke told the children. “Now, mayhap some of ye can show them around the camp?”

“I will, I will,” cried a little girl holding her hand in the air.

“Go as a group,” said Hawke, sending them on their way.

“Hawke!” A woman with dark hair streaked with gray at the temples ran out from one of the huts made of wattle and daub. She threw her arms around him.

“Hello, Mathair,” said Hawke, taking the woman into his arms and giving her a big hug and a kiss atop her head. It melted Phoebe’s heart to see how the children flocked to Hawke. She also enjoyed seeing him with his mother. He had a much softer, vulnerable side to him that she hadn’t witnessed before now.

“Orrick, so glad to see you, too. I didn’t expect you. But who is this, Hawke?” The woman looked straight at Phoebe. She spoke like an Englishwoman, but dressed like a Scot.

“This is Phoebe MacNab, Mathair,” Hawke told her. “Phoebe, this is my mathair, Wren.”

“You’re a MacNab?” Wren released Hawke, seeming confused. “Hawke, the pigeon your father sent from Hermitage Castle said the MacNabs captured Ian.”

“Aye. And I captured Phoebe.”

Wren glanced over to Phoebe’s siblings. “You . . . seem to have more than just one prisoner.”

“Those are Phoebe’s siblin’s, Mathair. Is that haggis I smell?” asked Hawke, sniffing the air.

“It is,” said Wren, flashing a smile. “You and your father like it so much, I am sure to always have some at the ready. Come, and we’ll have something to eat.”

“Phoebe will join us,” said Hawke, reaching out and taking her by the arm.

“Of course.” Wren’s eyes darted to her son and then back. Phoebe had the feeling Hawke’s mother somehow knew they’d made love. It was almost as if she could see right through her.

“Tend to the horses first, Hawke, and then meet us by the fire,” said Wren.

“Caleb and the others will get the horses,” Hawke told her.

“Go,” said Wren, giving her son a slight push. “This will give Phoebe and me a little time to get to know each other.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” mumbled Hawke, heading back to the stable.

“What did ye mean about the pigeons?” asked Phoebe as she headed toward the main fire with Wren.

“That is something my brother, Madoc, set up,” Wren explained. “He raises carrier pigeons. He used to race them but now they carry messages back and forth from Hermitage Castle to the Highlands, and even to Blake Castle in Devonshire where my other brother, Corbett lives. It’s very useful to get information in a hurry.”

“I suppose so.”

“How is Hawke treating you?” Wren glanced over from the corners of her eyes.