Page 26

"Of course," Alistair said at once. "Forgive my lack of manners. I have not welcomed you to my castle!" He waved a hand about the clearing.

"Well, Maeve, it seems we are in luck," Deirdre said, her lips quirking in a smile. "I did not expect to find a castle here! And how cleverly you have disguised it, sir! It looks exactly like a forest clearing."

Maeve lifted her head and looked around, her eyes wide and wondering.

"'Tis all part of the magic, ladies," Alistair said gravely.

"King of the Glen, are you?" Deirdre said, went on lightly, pleased to see Maeve begin to smile. "Laird of the Mist?"

"Precisely," Alistair agreed. "Did ye no' see how I bade them come and go before? I needed time to prepare a feast worthy of my guests." With the air of a conjurer, he began to lay food before them on the ground. "We have rabbit, bread and cheese," he said, and Deirdre's mouth began to water as the scent of the food reached her. "Hazel nuts and, for later, a bit o' honeycomb."

"But we can't eat your entire supper!" Deirdre protested.

"Of course ye can. I'll go catch a fish or two, just over there. Call if ye have need of me."

He walked to the burn and crouched on the edge of the rushing water, pulling a line and hook from the purse at his belt. He was an indifferent fisherman at best, but to his surprise he caught two fine trout, one after the other, almost as soon as his hook went into the water. He cleaned them and wrapped them in leaves, then plastered the whole thing in clay before walking back to the fire.

Maeve scooted closer to her mother when she saw him, but she didn't hide this time. He smiled at her and set the fish to cook among the coals and after a moment she smiled shyly in return.

"Did ye eat your supper, lass?" he said. "Oh, I see ye did. Then this is for you."

He held out a bit of honeycomb. She looked from it to his face, every muscle of her small body tensed, reminding Alistair of a wild cat he'd once befriended as a child. He waited with the same patience he'd learned then for her to make up her mind.

She glanced up at her mother and Deirdre nodded. With a frown almost comical on one so young, Maeve set her shoulders and held out her hand as though expecting a blow instead of the offered sweet. Alistair dropped the comb into her palm and stepped back quickly.

Deirdre looked up at him with a smile that warmed him to his toes.

"She's had but few treats," she said as Maeve retreated behind her once again.

Few treats and a fear of men, Alistair thought, shaking his head. Brodie Maxwell's gifts to his daughter.

As he waited for the fish to cook, Alistair slipped back into the timeless contentment he had felt before. All the questions he meant to ask melted into the shaft of deep golden sunlight slanting through the trees. Time enough for questions later. For now it was enough to sit by the fire, from time to time taking in the picture of the woman and her child against the backdrop of the forest.

Deirdre had shed her cloak and leaned against the oak, her eyes half closed as she stared into the flames. The coif had slipped back on her head and a few wisps of hair escaped, startling against the whiteness of her skin.

She was still too thin, he thought, and worn out by her journey, but her face looked soft and far younger than she had seemed that night at Cranston Keep. And that was no surprise. Being wed to Brodie Maxwell would surely age a woman quickly.

The child beside her yawned, her cheeks flushed a brilliant red, her lips sticky with honey. She put her head in her mother's lap and brought the honeycomb to her mouth. And thus, between one heartbeat and the next, she fell asleep.

When Deirdre looked down at her with a tenderness that transformed her thin, pale face, Alistair's breath caught in his throat. Had his own mother ever looked at him like that? It did not seem likely.

And yet...he remembered a warm presence, a sweet voice and a gentle touch. Surely that had been her. How could he have forgotten that for all these years? And yet, he realized with some surprise, that memory had always been with him, nestled close and secret in his heart.

The afternoon faded into twilight and the fire brightened. When he judged the fish had cooked long enough he pulled it from the coals and broke the hard clay, sniffing appreciatively as he peeled back the leaves.

"Will ye have some?" he offered.

Deirdre looked up, her eyes wide and startled, as though she had forgotten he was there.

"No," she said. "I've eaten enough of your food already."

"'Tisn't mine, lady. It comes from the forest and there's enough for all."

She smiled back, somewhat wryly. "Not when you don't know how to find or catch it. I fear we would have starved if we hadn't come upon you."

"No, no. A day or two, if ye kept on as ye were going, and you'd have reached Ravenspur. You would be welcome there."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't have stopped, not unless we were starving in truth."