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I still couldn’t forget my fear of Maardok’s reaction. Would he be disgusted? Nay, surely not, not the way he spoke of the babe already, not even knowing he’d fathered it. But such news was monumental. ‘Twas supposedly impossible, after all. If his first response was doubt or anger, I’m not certain I could handle that without crying.

Besides, if Ewan heard it, things would become infinitely more complicated once Maardok left.

What if he does not leave?

I would not condemn him to stay here with us.

He asked you to return to his world with him.

Aye, and that was…intriguing.

The things he told me last night about John worried me. I had never understood why the tavern keeper, who I’d thought of as almost a friend after Richard’s death, had turned against me so thoroughly. All those years ago, I’d been aware that he wanted to take me to his bed—he’d made it clear—but he’d offered me a job when others had thought a widowed mother worth only charity, if that.

I’d been grateful for what I thought was kindness. But I should have known better; no one in my life had ever been kind without expecting something in return. Naught was ever given without expectation.

Because in the spring—shortly after Maardok left, now that I thought of it—John had begun to pressure me. I assumed he wanted sex, especially since he’d been the one to suggest to Maardok that he might find shelter in my home—which I had expected only to be shelter, until I’d succumbed to his charms.

John had suggested marriage only once, and I’d brushed him off, having no desire to tie myself to a man again. Had he really begun his campaign of discrediting me merely to force me to become so desperate I’d marry him?

And what in all of God’s Creation did Ewan have to do with this? Why would John want to raise my son when he’d never shown an interest in my precious lad before?

“Mama! Maardok says I can try riding his horse if you allow it! Can I? Can I please, Mama?”

That sweet face—eyes darker than mine and with Richard’s brown hair—peered up at me pleadingly, and I had to resist the urge to crush Ewan safely against me.

Had he been born the son of a knight or lord, the lad would have already been on the back of a pony learning various warlike skills. I wondered when Maardok, as such a feared warrior, had begun training.

“Please, Mama? Maardok says he’ll not let me fall.”

I sent an amused glance at the male who was waiting for my decision, and he nodded solemnly.

“I will protect him. ‘Tis a fine day, and the snow is melting.”

“‘Tis still cold,” I warned them both. “Wear your new mittens.”

It took a moment for Ewan to recognize this as permission, and then he gave a mighty whoop and dashed about, punching the air and beginning a monologue about how he would be the greatest horseman ever born.

Maardok intercepted him, scooping him up by the armpits and lifting him until they were nose-to-nose.

“Ye will do everything I tell ye, when I tell ye to do so. Do ye understand?”

Ewan’s eyes went wide, and the big male gave him a slight shake.

“Ye will no’ make a liar out of me to yer mother.”

Ewan nodded. “I won’t,” he promised. “I mean, I will.”

I saw Maardok’s lips curl beneath his scar.

“Go get bundled up and meet me in the barn, laddie.”

To my surprise, he pulled down his cloak and wrapped it around me as he helped me to my feet and picked up the chair. When I raised my brow, he shrugged.

“I thought ye might enjoy sitting in the sunshine and watching the lesson.”

He was right.

“Will you fetch my sewing for me?”