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"But—well, these things do happen," Deirdre said. "She was very young. Did she ever marry?"

"She never had the chance. Her parents kept both of us well out of sight. When she died, they could hardly wait to get me here to Ravenspur. They said I had been a burden to them long enough and it was my father's turn to care for me."

"Did he?"

"He refused to acknowledge me," Alistair said. "Oh, he was a bonny laddie in his silk and velvet, fancied himself quite the gallant. But it was all paid for by his lady wife. She was much older, ye ken, and verra jealous of her fine young husband. The last thing he wanted was for her to find out what he'd been up to.

"He tried to give me back to my grandparents, but they would not have me. It was quite a scene," he said with a wry smile. "There we were in the laird's antechamber, Gordon denying everything at the top of his voice and my grandparents shouting at him, pushing me back and forth between them—"

Quite a scene indeed, Deirdre thought. A terrible thing to happen to any child, let alone one who had just lost his mother.

"How did they settle it?" she asked.

"They didn't. God knows what would have happened if the laird hadn't heard the noise and come out to see what was going on. He—he took my hand and brought me into his chamber, sat me on his knee and said they were all a pack of fools and I mustn't mind anything they said. Then he called Ian in and bade him look after me while they decided what to do."

"Is that when the laird took you to foster?" Deirdre asked.

"Nay, that came later, when Gordon was dead. I think the laird kept hoping he'd come to his senses and acknowledge me, especially as he had no children of his own. But he never did. Instead, he apprenticed me to the manor blacksmith. I saw him only once, when he stopped to collect a horse my master shod. He didn't even speak to me. Just looked right through me as if I wasn't there. But the laird didna forget me. Nor did Ian. Not a week passed that he didn't ask to have me up to the manor."

"You must have made quite an impression on Ian," Deirdre said, a bit surprised that a nobleman's heir would be so friendly with a common child.

"None of the manor lads could keep up with him." Alistair laughed, remembering. "Ian would always go a bit further than anyone else, just to prove that he could do it. And I was not about to let any boy—especially a noble—get the best of me. We became...friends. Blood brothers, in fact," he added lightly, holding out his hand.

Deirdre traced her finger across his thumb and smiled, remembering the solemnity with which she and Ronan had sworn just such a pact. How much more important that pledge must have been to a child like Alistair, who had no family of his own.

"Ian sounds like a fine boy," she said approvingly, giving Alistair's hand a squeeze.

"He was verra headstrong and more than a bit spoiled, but so good-natured that it was hard to fault him for it. He taught me how to laugh," Alistair said, his fingers tightening on hers. "I'd never had much practice at it before. I—well, I looked after him. Someone had to! And he let me do it. He listened to me—not always, but often enough that his father took notice. The laird cancelled my indenture and brought me to live at the manor as Ian's companion. When my father died, the laird asked if I would be his son now and would I like to take his name? He was so kind to me, Deirdre. So kind. I canna believe he is gone—that both of them are dead—"

He turned to her blindly and she held him hard against her.

They sat quietly for a time, her head against his shoulder and his cheek against her hair. His hand moved slowly over her neck and shoulders, and her heartbeat quickened as he stroked her hair. She sat quite still as he untied the knot about her braid and loosened the plait, just as he had done before, though every muscle in her body tensed as she remembered how she'd failed him in the woodsman's cottage.

What did I do wrong that night? she wondered. What should I do now? I must—I have to get it right this time.

"You have such lovely hair," he said. "Did ye know that? I thought so the first time I saw ye, by the pool..."

She wondered what she should say, what answer would be right, but then realized it didn't matter, for he wasn't waiting for her to speak. He pushed her hair aside and kissed the place where her neck met her shoulder, sending shivers down her back.

"And this...ah, Deirdre, there are no words for this, or not words that I know..."

She closed her eyes and turned to him, her arms reaching to clasp his neck as his lips moved against the pulse beating madly in her throat.

She yielded her mouth to him, leaning back against his arm. The kiss deepened until she lost all sense of time or place, until nothing existed but the fascinating dance of lips and tongues and hands. When he drew back she made a wordless sound of protest.

"Shh...'tis only that my arm has gone to sleep—"

He smiled and she was smiling, too, as she stood and pulled him to his feet. They walked together toward the bed, but once she lay down she went rigid with fear. Whatever should she do now? She didn't know—she'd never known—and her failure had moved Brodie to rage.

But no, it was shame to think of Alistair as being no different than Brodie. Just lie still, she told herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Let him take what he wants, and pray God he finds joy in it.

"Here, now, what's this? Don't tell me I've put you to sleep?"

She opened her eyes and Alistair was leaning over her, smiling, a lock of bright hair falling over his eyes. "Let me take this off."

"Oh, no." She put her hands firmly on the skirt of her shift.

"No? All right, then, I won't. But I thought you wanted..."